Chris Pettigrew and the No-Refund Policy
by Cookie Krisp
Summary: One day, Christopher died and woke up as everyone's favorite character-Peter Pettigrew. "Don't suppose there's a return policy on this kind of thing? 'Cause...I think I want a refund." With Christopher as Peter, how much will change? Semi-SI(Self Insert)/OC. Marauders-Era. undecided pairing, slash, m/m, m/f, bi, multi-shippings
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** One day, Christopher died and woke up as everyone's favorite character-Peter Pettigrew. "Don't suppose there's a return policy on this kind of thing? 'Cause...I think I want a refund." With Christopher as Peter, how much will change? Semi SI(Self Insert)/OC. undecided pairing, Slash, m/m, m/f, bi, multi-shippings

Warnings: Swearing! abuse for our poor characters, some gory description, mentions of drugs, angst, sometimes suicidal tendencies, sexual stuffs…..

I don't own Harry Potter. J.K Rowling owns it.

 **Chapter 1:**

 **"I'm kind of like Buddha."**

The first life was a daydream.

Christopher Templeton was a skinny boy with chestnut brown hair neatly combed around his ears. He had a couple freckles across his otherwise pale face. He wore a preppy green vest over a button up shirt. Well-fitted trousers and knee-high socks. He wore glasses as he walked across the street, nose stuck in a book.

It was 1940 and Christopher was thirteen years old and on his way home from school when he was killed in the London Bombings.

The second life was a bore.

Marui Sakamoto was a skinny boy with chestnut brown hair swept to the side. He was wearing a black button up school uniform for the prestigious Takegawa High School of Tokyo, Japan. He wore smart glasses and his school bag brushed his side as he walked, earphones in his ears. He waved goodbye to his friend.

Marui picked up the phone in his pocket. He knew his foster mother would be calling him to tell him he had just been accepted to Tokyo University. As expected. Marui pulled out his earphones and said, "Yes, Mother," and smiled politely as he walked across the street.

He never made it to the other end.

It was 2007, and Marui was fifteen years old, a renowned genius, and on his way to cram school when he was a tragic victim of a hit and run by an ambulance and died five minutes later.

The third life was a delusion.

Adrian Weston was a skinny boy with chestnut brown hair messily tousled around his ears. He had a couple freckles barely visible on his sun-kissed face. He wore sweatpants that sagged around his hips and loose T-shirt. He covered his messy hair with a gang bandana. He was bobbing his head to EDM in his headphones, and he was smoking weed in the middle of New York City.

It was 2016, and Adrian was seventeen years old when he overdosed on Heroin and died in a back alley in his own vomit.

The fourth life wasn't worth description. Neither were the fifth, sixth, or seventh.

The only thing that remained the same was that every time, he had the same body, his first body, his "Christopher" body, with skinny limbs and a boyish face and chestnut hair. It seemed reincarnation did not care for genetics.

This was the cause of many unfortunate happenings in his many lives, such as frequent accusations of infidelity ("Why does he not look like us! He is not our son!"), frequent actual abandonment ("I'm taking that bastard child to the orphanage. I don't know what man you screwed around with but that is not my child") and even exorcisms ("That child is the devil, I'm telling you! He's freakishly intelligent, he knows everything I know he does, and he looks nothing like us!").

One time, he was born white-skinned into an Indian family and he was taken to a temple and worshiped as a God. On the flip side, he had also been scalped by an African Tribe for being cursed. Well, they weren't wrong. He was cursed, indeed.

Christopher found it morbidly amusing.

His lives were simultaneously heinously boring and heinously intriguing. Sometimes he was born in different timelines, in different dimensions, in different parallel universes. But no matter what, when it came down to it, all his existences were the same, over and over, born again, dead again.

Eventually, it came to where he was now. Dead and born again.

The seventieth life was magical.

Literally.

Peter Pettigrew was a skinny boy with chestnut brown hair falling softly around his ears. He had a couple freckles fading across his unhealthily pale face. He wore a baggy worn shirt that fell to the middle of his stick thighs and shorts sticking out from underneath brushing the knobs of scraped and bruised knees. He often went barefoot but today he was wearing torn up sneakers he'd found in the trash.

It had been nearly eleven years since he had been born into this world, replacing JK Rowling's Peter Pettigrew with his own body, memories, and existence. And now, Christopher-Marui-Adrian-blah-blah-blah-insertNamesHere-Peter-fucking-Pettigrew was lying on the ground, philosophizing.

 _I'm kind of like Buddha_.

He stared up at the ceiling.

 _Maybe this is some sort of spiritual journey. Like a reaching-Nirvana kind of thing._

Through his swelling pregnant eye and the warm blood water creeping across his vision, and falling from his nose into his throat, he saw spots on the ceiling that looked like snow.

Then his father's shoe came into view.

 _Nirvana..._

His nose crunched.

 _...Or not._ He didn't wince, simply stared as though he were watching television.

Christopher examined the boot as it came up again. Those familiar markings. The designs on the sole of the boot looked like a maze, and Christopher-Peter traced the design with slow blinks. Left, right, turn up-

The boot came down again. His eyes blurred.

 _Well, that's inconvenient._

As usual, whenever he got close to solving the maze that was the bottom of his father's favorite boots, he would pass out. Or his father would get new ideas, that involved things other than kicking.

Like punching, Christopher thought as his father's ring slammed into his cheekbone.

 _Oh. Nice. New facet, definitely._ That made it 9. 9 different facets he had counted on his father's ring. His face was very well acquainted with that ring. He knew it quite intimately, even though his father had only had it since three days ago.

The other had broke. So had Christopher's nose. (Unfortunately, his father got a ring, but Christopher did not get a new nose.)

As he laid there, he zoned out. Christopher had read Harry Potter before, in his second, third, and thirty-third lives. It wasn't so much that he was a fun, so much that it was so ingrained in pop culture it was impossible to not read them.

He had watched the movies too. In his fifty-second life, he had been invited to the movies with his fanatic girlfriend and she had insisted on marathon watching all of them. At least her boobs had felt nice on his arm. The popcorn was too popped.

He supposed he was thankful, sort of. The good thing was that since he had read and watched Harry Potter, he knew what world he was in. The bad thing was he knew what world he was in.

And, as Peter Pettigrew, indeed what a world of fuck fuck fuck he was in for.

 _Oh, Peter,_ Christopher thought to himself. He sighed heavily, staring at the ceiling. _This is one hell of a life you've got here, mate…_

He turned over on his stomach and puked. Water. There was nothing in his stomach. His arms wobbled, his eyelids were heavy. Well, it wouldn't last forever, he thought. Hogwarts was coming, and then...oh right. Christopher's hair soaked in the expelled acids of his heaving stomach. _After Hogwarts, Peter joins the Death Wieners. Or whatever their name was..._ His faltering breath fluttered the stray strands of chestnut hair above his nose. _And then he cuts off his finger and lives 7 years as a rat..._ Through his hair he saw the yellow light of the sun filtering in the broken window. He chuckled wetly. _What the fuck, Pete...all that after this childhood of god fucking hell torture? And apparently your "best mates" the Marauders either never knew or didn't care about it._ He rolled onto his back. _Fuck, man….I always thought you were just a pathetic fucking loser. But you weren't, huh._

He stared at his fingers. The index finger twitched. The others wouldn't move. His thumb was kind of broken, he thought. It looked crooked. _You were a goddamn fighter,_ his body ached. _A traitor, a loner, a rat, yeah, whatever._ He thought of Peter Pettigrew and how he had self-mutilated himself, prostrated himself, betrayed his friends, spent years as a pet rat, never talking to anyone, never revealing himself, yet through all of that, he had not given up on living. _Peter, you rat..._

 _You're one damn determined survivor._

He had always wondered what made Peter Pettigrew into such a twisted son of a bitch. After eleven years of this bullshit, Christopher thought he had a pretty good idea why.

He couldn't see well, but considering the place was quiet and he was no longer being beaten to a pulp, he was pretty sure he was alone now.

"Hey, Peter mate…" he choked out as he pushed himself onto his knees. "Don't suppose-" he coughed blood, "there's a return policy on this kind of thing."

He stared out the window, but there was only a blue sky. It was the ugliest thing he had ever seen. No rain. No clouds. No God.

No owl.

Just a bright fucking sun and an empty blue sky.

He sighed and sunk into the wall. He was almost eleven. Just a couple days. Just a couple days, and Hogwarts.

Hogwarts...and then terror and destruction and pain. There really was no end in sight, was there?

"Nice going, Peter," he said to himself. "We're officially fucked."

 _Hey, God. If you're out there at all, do you think I could get a refund?_

. . .

I just starting writing this and I'm not sure where it's going. But it's fun to write, so here we go.

Review please!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

" **Call me Christopher"**

Christopher was not interested in meeting the Marauders. He had assumed that Peter Pettigrew had wormed his way into that friend group out of necessity of survival in a hostile Hogwarts climate, and that if Peter had not made the effort to appear a harmless, mumbling fanboy, the Marauders would have merely ignored him.

Ha. What a joke.

James Potter didn't leave anyone alone.

Or, at least, he wouldn't leave _Christopher_ alone.

The door to the cabin slid open and two boys came tumbling through. "Oh," said the one with messy brown hair. "There's someone here!" he whined.

"This is the last compartment, James," said the black-haired boy. "Just kick him out," he said, sauntering in with his arms folded behind his head.

 _Oh great,_ Christopher thought as soon as he heard that name. _Here they come..."The Canons"._ That was the term he fashioned on all characters important to the Harry Potter canon storyline. Inspired by "The Plastics" from Mean Girls.

He thought about getting up and leaving, but that seemed like too much work, and Christopher was a naturally lazy being. That, and his ribs hurt. _Thanks, Dad._

"Oh, okay," James said, blinking round brown eyes. Sirius opened his mouth presumably to tell Christopher to get lost, but James cut him off by throwing himself down in the seat across from Christopher. "Hey, that's Sirius and I'm James. James Potter!" His grin was a little lop-sided and he had a two dimples.

Despite the kid's loud voice and bold behavior, James offered his hand to Christopher in what Christopher recognized as the proper pureblood handshake the Potter family had no doubt drilled into his head. Christopher had lived multiples lives as a child of English aristocracy-he assumed pureblood manners were very similar to those. However, when Christopher made no move to shake his hand, James dropped it. But he didn't give up. He didn't even seem offended. "Who're you?" James merely inquired, tilting his head.

Christopher was sitting there already dressed in his Hogwarts robes. He had a book cracked open on his lap. While his father was off getting drunk and his older brothers were whoring around, and his mother was crying in her room, Christopher had climbed onto the roof of a train and hitchhiked his way from countryside to London.

Once there, he drew upon his previous life as a street gangster and pickpocketed money off of some rich British muggles. He collected a fair penny, then went to exchange the pounds for enough Galleons to buy all his Hogwarts school supplies. He even opened an account with the goblins at Gringotts for himself, and stored some of the extra Galleons there. To collect interest.

Well, God knew his "father" was not going to pay for shit.

To be honest, Christopher wondered how the hell Peter had even gotten himself to King's Cross to get on the train in the first place. If Christopher hadn't called the Knight Bus and stole Galleons from his drugged-up mother, then he would probably still be at home right now. Maybe Peter had stolen his older brother's Hogwarts stuff. The Pettigrew's had three kids: Peter ( age 11), Logan (19), and Gorgon(24). Therefore, both Logan and Gorgon were out of Hogwarts by the time Peter or Christopher got in.

That was a good idea, now that he thought about it. Christopher considered stealing Logan's stuff.

"Who're you?" James repeated when he realized he wasn't getting a reply. "Whatch'a doin'?"

Sirius had at this point shut the compartment door and slid down in the seat next to James. From Christopher's standpoint, they already looked like annoying brothers, practically sitting on top of each other as they were. Christopher was fairly certain the two had met for the first time on the train, just as Ron and Harry had, yet there was already an undeniable attachment between the two.

The sight, Christopher found distasteful, as their friendship was against his negative, cynical, friends-aren't-worth-shit policy he stood by as an unwilling-Buddha-in-training.

"Hey," Sirius said lowly. His grey eyes were cold. "He asked you a question. What's your name," Sirius demanded. Sirius seemed to be getting annoyed.

Curiously enough, James on the other hand only seemed to get more excited the more Christopher ignored him. _What the hell? How many Cauldron Cakes has this kid had?_ With an inward sigh, Christopher decided that a-very-excited-James was not what he wanted, and to avoid attention he should merely introduce himself and be done with that mess.

"Call me Christopher," he said finally, because he didn't care. He wasn't Peter, and he didn't feel like pretending either. He wouldn't be another Peter to them, he wouldn't stand to let Peter's existence take another sore beating in this lifetime, if only because Christopher didn't feel like having to go through Hogwarts as Potter and Black's footstool. Groveling could be tiring.

Christopher knew Peter's life. It was desperation, it was struggle, it was disgust of your own self and body, complete betrayal. It was digging in trash cans, it was eating moldy apples, it was humiliating oneself for the sake of survival, it was bowing the head to the tormentor to live another day.

But there was a fundamental difference between Christopher and Peter. Peter had known nothing but a need to survive, an all consuming fear of death.

Christopher had already died, and consequently, didn't care. Christopher did not particularly want to die, but he did not particularly want to live either. He merely thought, vaguely, that dying was always unpleasant and living was also unpleasant, yet he kept having to do both over and over, with no escape in sight. He would have to make do with what he had.

However, the thought had occurred to him that perhaps this life, this magical wizard life, would give him the answers he sought about his own...little...problem. There was a magical being called Death in this universe, after all, and Christopher would very much like to question him. Therefore, early death, purposeful or not, was not his priority option.

Or, well, given how shitty Peter's life was, he had to find _some_ reason not to kill himself right now.

"Christopher, huh," James said. He was kicking his legs all over.

"Hn," Christopher made a noise, let his eyebrow raise a little, and returned to his book. It was really a very boring book. He turned the page.

Suddenly James' head was in his way.

 _Holy fuck._

"Hi," James said and grinned. "Hi, Chris, hi."

Christopher sat still even though he had felt his heart literally stop. _You..._ Christopher's lower lid of his left eye twitched. He felt an indescribable itch to whack the kid in the nose. Instead, he closed the book.

James sputtered as the covers smashed his cheeks. He pulled his head out and scrambled back to Sirius, sputtering, "Hey! Ow...my face…" He squeezed and patted his red cheeks which had been squashed by the book.

Sirius started laughing.

Christopher stood up. "Don't call me Chris," he said and slipped out the compartment.

"I like him!" James exclaimed from his spot on the floor. "He's cool."

"I don't know," Sirius said, more carefully. At James' curious look, he rolled his eyes. "That last part was funny though," he admitted, making James pout. "But…" Sirius trailed off. Sirius narrowed his eyes at the spot where Chris had left. _Christopher? Christopher who…?_ He never said his family name.

. . .

When the Sorting Hat called out "Peter Pettigrew", Christopher, who was used to being called various names through his lives including other non-savory ones like asshole, toerag, and useless piece of shit, did not hesitate to walk to the front of the Hall and take the hat.

"Yo. I'm not Peter," Christopher thought to the Hat as soon as he put it on. "It's Christopher."

"OH, EXCUSE ME," the Sorting Hat yelled out loud for everyone in the hall to hear. "NOT PETER PETTIGREW. " The Sorting Hat cleared its throat, even though, Christopher thought wryly, it had no throat to clear at all. How strange, magic was. "CHRISTOPHER."

Christopher tried not to cringe. It seemed the Hat had two volumes- telepathy, or CHEERLEADER VOICE.

"I'm not a Cheerleader," the Sorting Hat huffed. Oops. It must have been able to see Christopher imagining the hat being used at Quidditch rallies. Perhaps if someone who had already been sorted were to put on the hat, the hat would break, like a broken record, and simply repeat the house the person was in over and over again.

For instance, if Hermione Granger would have worn it at Quidditch matches, perhaps the Sorting Hat would declare GRYFFINDOR GRYFFINDOR GRYFFINDOR I SAID GRYFFINDOR GODDAMMIT over and over again until it was taken off. Hm. What a great cheerleader indeed.

Well, regardless, Christopher vaguely appreciated the Sorting Hat's self-correction. Perhaps he would be spared the hell of teachers calling him Peter for all seven years then.

He glanced and Dumbledore looked a little confused, most likely because this did not happen everyday. Even with Tom Riddle who hated his name, it wasn't as though the Hat had said, "Oops sorry, not Tom-Tom, I meant Lord Voldemort, yes, Lord Voldemort sir, please come up for your sorting!"

But then again most eleven year olds weren't reincarnated souls with identity crises. And yes, Christopher had checked in previous lives to see if other people were also reincarnations but were keeping it a secret, and the only place it had landed him was the looney bin.

The only thing he did manage to theorize through all his strange and outlandish lives was that perhaps everyone was a reincarnation, but only Christopher was cursed enough to remember it. And perhaps authors, like JK Rowling, had lived in the Harry Potter Universe and then died and were reborn into the Normal Universe (as he dubbed it) , and subconsciously drew upon memories of past lives as creative muses without realizing what they truly were.

Or, Christopher was just batshit crazy. Either way, he was stuck.

"Hello," the Sorting Hat said. "You have a very interesting mind."

Christopher snorted. "Thanks."

He was determined to get Hufflepuff so that everyone would leave him alone. He just wanted to live an easy life. He didn't want Slytherin because he was perhaps cunning, but he wasn't ambitious, and he didn't want to become a Death Eater. He didn't want Gryffindor because, again, he didn't want to become a Death Eater, and that's exactly what happened to Peter Pettigrew when he went into Gryffindor.

The further he distanced himself from the path Peter had taken in his life, the better his chances were avoiding Peter's shitty future. Or at least he hoped so, anyway. He liked having all five fingers on both hands, thank you very much.

"Hufflepuff, hat," he said very lazily. He liked the word Hufflepuff. It sounded like the tissue brand. Or cotton candy. Cotton candy tissues? His mind was all over the place today.

"Uh," the hat said. "Nah."

Christopher twitched inwardly. "I said I would like Hufflepuff." At the silence, he repeated, "Hey. I said Hufflepuff, you shitty hat."

And yet the hat ignored him (thanks Hat, thanks Dumbledore, I thought you said it was free choice, but apparently not). "Ha," the Sorting Hat laughed, "well that settles it! An eleven year old snot with a mouth like that belongs no place other than-"

Christopher groaned.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Fuck. Great. Christopher was ready to bash his head on the Gryffindor table. One step closer to purgatory. A.K.A living life as a Weasley rat for seven years.

"Congrats, Christopher-not-Peter!" some random older kid from Hogwarts slapped him on the back. Christopher almost choked and fell into the table. "Welcome to Gryffindor! House of the brave!"

 _Ha,_ Christopher thought dryly, _Welcome to America, land of the brave._ Fitting indeed. Gryffindors were prideful, hot-tempered, and known to be overly friendly… to those that weren't enemies. They fashioned themselves heroes and rebels, were quick to be enraged, ate like pigs, and loved their sports. Then... if Gryffindor were to be Americans, then were Ravenclaws English, Slytherins German, and Hufflepuffs Swiss? Or were Hufflepuffs Aussies, he wondered, or perhaps Canadians. Slytherins could also be Russians, he thought. _Stereotyping is fun._

 _Whatever,_ he thought. Christopher squeezed into a spot next to some first year girls. One was a blonde, McKinnon, he thought, who blushed when she made eye contact with him. He didn't know the other one. Either way, he was sitting furthest away from Sirius Black, and there were no seats left here for Potter to slip into anyway. His ribs hurt as he sat, but the anticipation of the day had numbed the pain...until now.

"Welcome to Hogwarts!" Dumbledore clapped his hands and stood up. "There are some rules that must be gone over…"

Christopher tuned out the rest. His head was hurting. His leg was shaking. He rubbed his temples with his hand. Somehow the magic of the hall was buzzing and all the people breathing and all the people sitting and all the people with their magic were...were…

He couldn't explain it. He felt like he was sitting down in the middle of an ocean and all the waves were going all over the place pushing him around.

 _Well,_ Christopher thought, biting his tongue until he felt the metallic taste of blood. It calmed him a little. A little. _That's what you get after being practically locked inside a dump of a house and deprived of normal human contact for eleven years._ Getting chased by shop owners calling "Thief! Thief!" didn't count. Neither did practicing his crappy control of accidental magic on random old people passing by his house. _Social anxiety,_ he tagged himself. _Textbook case._

He was exasperated with himself. _Whatever._ It would be better once he got used to it, he figured, even as his heart thumped harder. _You'll get used to it,_ he told himself. _Calm the fuck down._

He looked up.

Sirius Black was watching him.

. . .

Thank you to everyone for your support so far! I love when reviewers speculate on what's going to happen or tell me things you'd like to see or things you like so far. Feedback really helps me write ;)

What do you think of Christopher/Peter so far? What about James and Sirius?

Review please!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

" **You're a Cute Girl"**

Christopher did not want to be here.

There was a feeling of general unease that had ached in his bones from the moment he stepped onto the platform at King's Cross and found himself overwhelmed by the bodies around him. That unease had quieted when he quickly slipped into a lone compartment.

It had returned when James and Sirius barged in. Admittedly, he had left them not only to avoid being recruited into their friend group, but because of the increasing heart rate thudding in his chest. Being in a small compartment with other people, no matter how he rationalized (they're kids, they're Potter and Black, when did they ever hurt someone in the books, oh wait Snape, agh fuck Snape! Calm down, calm down) his body wouldn't cooperate.

In fact, the tension between his thoughts and his body only seemed to worsen the anxiety, and thus he slipped outside the last compartment and climbed onto the roof of the train. Apparently, there were no charms to stop it, and no Prefects around to see it.

That had momentarily calmed him. That respite, of course, ended when he was herded onto a boat. The sight of Hagrid had, embarrassingly, petrified him. Hagrid had came out of the trees with stomping steps and his shadow had loomed over Christopher who had frozen in place. His booming voice went straight into him.

Christopher couldn't even enjoy the sight of the castle, because his eleven-years-psychologically-conditioned (cough damaged), illogical, irrational, already fucking PTSDed (thanks "Dad") child-brain was too busy conjuring ways that Hagrid could become enraged with Christopher, and Christopher would get beaten to a pulp.

Then, in the Great Hall after the sorting, Christopher hadn't touched the food. James had spent half the meal trying to squirt pumpkin juice from his nose with Sirius, and the other half James spent looking around like a wild puppy until he found Christopher (ears perking) and wouldn't stop trying to get his attention.

This included throwing food at Christopher which landed in other unsuspecting kids' hair, making faces, yelling, and other ridiculousness that Christopher steadfastly ignored as he poked the mass of meat on his plate. His stomach was cramping and all the sweaty bodies around him made him feel sick. He hadn't eaten anything since, well, what was it three days, four days? Whatever. It didn't matter. He had gone longer, but he should have been ravenous, but he only felt repulsed.

Peter had been a chubby kid. Or, well, he'd been a fat adult, Christopher thought, and it somehow seemed like he'd always been chubby. Christopher had for a second wondered how that could be possible when he himself had gotten next to no food at the Pettigrew home for eleven years. Was it merely Peter's genetics? Could be.

Then he realized what he'd just thought, which was that he'd gotten next to no food at the Pettigrew home, and realized, well, of course Peter would get chubby at school. He probably ate himself sick of all the food on the table. Ah, Peter Pettigrew's trusty, never-rusty, oh so reliable Survival instinct. Indeed, a true rat he was. Eat and Eat and Eat and store it all away, because Peter knew he'd need it later, to survive the summer.

That would be the smart thing to do, Christopher thought, staring at the food. He should eat it. But that very thought made his throat clench.

He could just imagine all the sweat and all the saliva and all the germs getting all over the table. All these dirty first years crowding around after having walked through a forest and then riding a boat and probably sticking all their hands in the black water which had Squid poop and Mermaid piss in it, and now they were sticking their hands all over the table.

And then came to mind who had made the food. Ah right, the House Elves. He imagined the kitchen that had been described in the books, the Hogwarts Kitchen with hundreds of House Elves all brushing against each other, dirty little things sad and skinny with rags as clothes and knobby knees, making his food. Making this food.

He hid a gag. Did House Elves even clean their hands, after all they spent all day cleaning the floors and beds and toilets? Or did they use those same hands to make this food...Either way, slavery put this food on the table.

Gross.

(but mostly he couldn't escape the idea that it was poisoned. Or rotted. Or there was something in it. Potions? Grubs? His stomach rolled.)

He pushed away his plate and tried to breathe through his mouth. Even the smell made him nauseous. The fact that Sirius Black was burning holes into him with unreadable grey eyes only made the twitching of his leg under the table even more spastic.

But all of that had been a buzz of anxiety compared to the growing haze of panic that began to consume him now, as the Prefect lead the group of first years toward the Gryffindor Common Room. James and Sirius were somewhere at the head of the pack. Christopher had purposely hung back, taking advantage of his head of ordinary chestnut hair to blend in with the other majority-European children.

Throughout the hallways, all Christopher could do was focus on breathing steadily. Or at least appearing to breath steadily, and not bursting into hyperventilation like a goldfish out of water. Yes, haha, funny. Not really.

It was too many people, too much magic, too unfamiliar scenery, and way too much darkness and shadows and strangers with hands that could punch and feet that could kick and wands that could cast who knew what kind of torture spell at his back. In the dark. In the castle.

And no, Christopher did not trust anyone to protect him. Hogwarts, safest place in Britain? Ha, what a joke. The safest place in Britain was dead in the fucking ocean, drowning at the bottom of the English sea. Dumbledore sure as fuck wouldn't protect him; he'd never stopped Sirius and James from tormenting Severus Snape, and he'd never actually stopped Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter from hexing each other, so why on earth would Christopher ever think Dumbledore would save his (insignificant Peter Pettigrew's) back? . He would never. Just never.

No wonder Peter had always been described as flighty, jumpy, and overly timid, Christopher thought to himself. Fuck, if Christopher wasn't Seventy Lives Old, he figured he would have been reduced to the same stuttering mess-or worse, considering how shitty he was doing now.

Hell, if many-lives _Christopher_ was barely holding onto his composure, then poor eleven-year-old Peter had probably pissed himself, ran around for the bathroom and cried like a toddler.

Christopher's admiration for Peter grew exponentially with every second. How the hell had Peter NOT cracked and drowned himself in the Black Lake the second he had the chance? Or thrown himself off the top of the Tower? The temptation was bloody infuriati- Oh, wait. Right. _Christopher_ was the one with the death wish-not survive-at-all-costs Peter. Ha. Haha.

Still not funny.

(His chest felt like it was collapsing).

Despite all his lives, Christopher wasn't invulnerable. Mentally. He quickly shoved it down, but he couldn't deny feeling the twinges of anxiety that this lifetime had beaten into his brain after years and years of….unpleasant experiences.

It was a fact of psychology, a fact of biology, of the brain. Yes, he did, in fact, have a physical brain, even though somehow what he believed was a "soul" kept his memories and his mind functioning high above that of a regular developing infant, toddler, child, whatever he was in the reincarnated body. And that physical brain had an effect on his thoughts and large control over his body.

Yeah, he would fucking know, seeing that years of being hit around by Daddy dearest in this life's childhood years had definitely screwed up his developing brain's wiring, so now he was a well-conditioned puppy jumping at sudden noises and loud voices. His brain had a fucking marathon sending hormones and adrenaline and fear signals and pain signals all over his dumbass prepubescent body.

Well, to be fair, his "soul" was pretty fucked up as it was, without the help of his physical body. Past lives of poor memories didn't help either, showing up not only in his nightmares but randomly in his day to day life.

"Welcome to the Gryffindor Common Room," said the Prefect, interrupting his thoughts. The Prefect then went on a long speech and said the password, which Christopher vaguely cocked a head to listen to. Then they went inside.

It was red and gold. It was large, and it was warm, because there was a fire burning in the hearth in the Common Room. There were soft, well-worn couches where some older students were already strewn across talking with hands flying around. The fire crackled.

The second he stepped inside, he felt the wards open around him like an egg yolk and close as he stepped through. And once he emerged from the wards, another wave of magic washed over him so suddenly he had to stop for fear of losing his balance and falling over.

He had to close his eyes as it felt like sand in his face. It itched. The room itself felt okay, like a warm cup of hot chocolate, mittens, and a burnt marshmallow. But the people...their magic itched like sandpaper scraping across his face and the grains of sand getting all over him and his skin.

Why he was so oversensitive to magic, he didn't know. Harry Potter didn't seem to be like this in the books, and he was raised in a cupboard. Let out to be yelled at by his Aunt and Uncle and beat up at school by his cousin. How's that for isolation? If Christopher had to suffer this shit, why the hell didn't Harry fucking Potter have to?

Maybe he had, Christopher considered. But J.K Rowling never described it like this, he thought. But then again, it was a kid's book. Maybe she censored shit out of this crappy universe. Otherwise people wouldn't fucking like it, he thought.

He opened his eyes. It had only been mere seconds. The Common Room was just the same, older kids talking, and laughing. The fire crackling. The Prefect still blabbing on and on and on about blah blah blah.

He stuck his hands in his pockets, because they were sweaty and a little shaky.

The red head girl next to him looked at him. "Um, hi. I'm Lily. Lily Evans." She said it in a very hushed voice, presumably, to not be heard by the Prefect.

Oh. Harry's Mom. Her magic felt okay, he thought. Kind of like leaves, soothing leaves on his raw oversensitive skin. She should've been named Aloe Vera, or something. She should bottle her magic and sell it to people with Problems. Like Christopher.

Christopher was feeling to heavy to say anything clever. He raised an eyebrow and said, "...Are you?"

She blushed, from nerves, he assumed.

He observed her. It was a girl. Not his "mother" he told himself, yet couldn't stop from checking her hands from pieces of glass or weird weapons/dangerous items. Nothing. Okay. "Christopher," he said and fake-smiled at her. "Pleasure."

She blushed again, and looked down. Shy, he tagged her. She was okay.

The Prefect was now saying something about rules; Christopher ignored it. Then the Prefect seemed to be done, because the Prefect was now showing them which staircase to go up. Boys on one side, girls on the other. The second the Prefect stopped talking, the kids ran off. Christopher stood still, at the back of the crowd. There were too many people trying to race and bumble up the narrow staircase.

"Oh," Lily said, face falling into a sad pout. "I guess we have to go different ways."

Christopher had to hand it to her. The kid was cute. No wonder James and Snape would fight over her. And she was distracting him from the anxiety. "Don't worry," he said, letting a small smile on his face. She was looking at the floor really hard.

He figured she had had a hard day, no doubt with coming into a brand new world (that wanted her dead) and Severus being sorted into a different House(that also wanted her dead, not that she knew that, hopefully).

"I don't know any of the girls here," Lily mumbled. "And...I've never been friends with a girl before."

"Really?" Christopher said, blinking. He actually had to walk backwards and face her, because he had been mid-process walking away when she decided to get all heartfelt on him. "I didn't know that…" he mumbled to himself. Then again, that made sense. No wonder Lily was so attached to Severus. She had probably had the same problem most muggleborn or muggle-raised kids had, like Harry and Hermione, where none of the school kids liked them because they were weird. Of course she didn't have any girl friends. She'd only had Severus.

"Is that weird?" Lily asked. "I'm sorry…"

"Nah," he said nonchalantly when she looked at him with watery eyes. "What? Don't cry," he shrugged. "I was just surprised." He rubbed his chin. "You just seem like a girl with a lot of girl friends. Real friendly and s-" he almost said shit "-tuff."

"Do you think…?" She looked at him, trailing off. Her green eyes were goddamn fucking traps.

"You're a cute girl," Christopher said honestly. He smiled at her, seeing her eyes widen, and he put a hand on her head. Christopher wasn't tall himself but Lily was a little shorter. Her red hair was poofy and he discovered that it bounced right back once he removed his hand. Funny. "You'll be fine. Smile."

"Okay," she said, perking up slightly. Her red hair bounced a little. "See you...later?" She grinned but it was still nervous.

"Yeah," he said, "later." And seeing the boys staircase had emptied out, he offered her a backwards hand wave and with hands in his pockets made his way up.

. . .

A/N: Thank you for the reviews and favs/alerts/views!

Don't worry, Remus will be appearing soon! I have not forgotten about him. He is very much just as important as James and Sirius in this story.

Tell me what you think of Chris and Lily so far :) Review!


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

" **I Wear Your Grandma's Clothes"**

Christopher was weary to open the door. He nudged it open an inch with his foot, and tilted horizontally to peer inside. Well...there didn't appear to any dung bombs or anything awaiting him…

He stepped inside.

"Chris!" James jumped off the bed instantly.

 _FUCK!_ His heart skipped and he cursed the kid in his head. Did he have to be so sudden with everything! Christopher seriously debated stepping back, closing the door, and sleeping in the hallways. Nah. Dumbleduck would notice. The portraits were goddamned security cameras. They gossiped.

In the end, he just said, "...Yo."

"Yes!" James was literally hopping. "We're in the same dorm! Me, you, and Sirius! This is Siriusly gonna be amazing! Get it! Get it!"

Sirius snickered.

"That was dumb," Chris said bluntly. James froze mid-laugh and looked at him like a deer in headlights. How appropriate, considering he was a stag. Christopher sighed. "...Seriously."

James burst into laughter again.

Sirius looked away, crossing his arms.

 _Ah...Crisis averted,_ Christopher thought to himself. He didn't want to be James' friend, but he also didn't want the eleven-year old dork to look at him like he was an incoming car aiming to slime the James-stag across the street as roadkill. _Not even I'm that cruel._ _Probably._ What was with these kids and their killer pathetic eyes?

While James was rolling on the floor laughing, Christopher wandered over to the only empty bed. Unfortunately, the peace (if it could be called that) did not last long.

"So, Chris," James started, "is Chris a nickname for Peter, or is Peter a nickname for Chris, or is Peter not your name at all, or is it and you just don't like it," James rambled. "I mean, you don't have to tell me but we were just curious," James said referring to him and Sirius, "and it was really funny when the hat corrected itself by the way." Then, he added, "but I mean it was pretty wicked anyway."

Christopher wanted to bang his head into a wall. The kid talked so much and so fast. And for the (seventieth) life of him he couldn't figure out why the hell James Potter thought Christopher Pettigrew was so interesting, especially since it was clearly one-sided.

"What's your problem, Pettigrew," Sirius's cold tone interrupted. Sirius, unlike James, seemed less than enthused. "The least you could do is reply," Sirius sneered.

Christopher was annoyed. He had wanted to stay out of range of the Marauders but the Sorting Hat had evidently ruined his plans. And as Peter had been in their room, naturally so was Chris. Wonderful. Life wanted to keep him on JK Rowling's plot. No thank you.

Christopher however, did not favor spending his Hogwarts years giving everyone the cold shoulder. He preferred the cold eye, and the shoulder to the nose, and if needed, a kick to the balls.

"Cat got your tongue?" Sirius sneered, stepping up to Christopher.

James watched, interested.

 _Cat got my tongue?_ Christopher was tempted to make a joke about frenching McGonagall. Then a cat would have your tongue indeed. But of course they wouldn't understand that until the first day of class, when she from cat to woman. Haha, CatWoman. She was fit to join the Avengers.

Actually, they probably wouldn't understand that joke until third year. Because even if they knew McGoggs was a kitty cat cat, they probably wouldn't know what Frenching and what it had to do with tongues for a while, given their undoubtedly sheltered pureblood childhoods.

 _What a drag_ , Christopher thought. _Eleven year old kids. Too fucking innocent._

"Well?" Sirius took another step forward, taunting him. He was getting very cocky, Christopher thought. "Look James, he can't even talk. Cat really does got your cowardly tongue, huh," he said, in some mockery of informal British, which sounded odd to Christopher, because obviously, Sirius was faking it to be "cool". Or "wicked" as the Brits probably said in this time period.

Well, Christopher considered, even if Sirius was eleven, Christopher could still have his fun. Christopher raised an eyebrow at him. Sirius was glaring. Christopher's lips twitched in a smirk. "I'm not sure," he said slowly, drawing it out. "Does the cat have my tongue?"

 _Haha_ , Christopher thought dryly to himself. _McGonagall. McGonaKitty, Mc Order me a French, McFrench a Kitty._

"Hm. Let me think." Christopher leaned forward, making Sirius take a step back, and stuck out his tongue, slowly, tauntingly.

James who was watching eye's widened, fascinated at the somehow lewd, tempting action. Growing up in pureblood society, he had never witnessed such blatant crudity.

Yet this Chris mate made sticking out one's tongue look like a middle finger. The MIDDLE Finger. Chris was THAT BAD.

 _Wow._ James had always admired pirates and bandits and everything bad bad bad (But exciting) and here was this Chris, that wore ripped clothes and looked cool, and stuck his tongue out, and ignored people and sauntered like a master.

"Would you like to check?" Christopher taunted with a smirk, pointing to his tongue.

There was a silence.

"Wicked!" James squealed, banging his hand on the floor. "Chris, mate," James pointed his finger at Christopher, "that was deadly! Dead killer! I've decided that you may join my pirate crew," James said with a firm nod. "Yes. There is definitely a need for an outlaw like you!"

For once Christopher and Sirius looked at each other and felt the same baffled expression on their faces. "You're fucking weird," Christopher muttered, inching away. "Kids these days." he grumbled to himself.

"Wait-" James exclaimed. "You said a bad word!"

"Whatever, big deal, who cares," Sirius grumbled, clearly wanting James to stop talking to Christopher. "Come on, can't we unpack or something-"

James pushed up his glasses. He didn't like not knowing what words meant, especially bad ones. James was planning on being a pirate when he grew up; he had to know all kinds of bad words. "My newest recruit! You must tell me! What does fucking mean?"

Christopher choked on air. He couldn't help it. He whipped around to stare at James and he was pretty sure his face looked like he'd been sucker punched in the gut. "I am NOT giving you the birds and bees talk," Christopher said. Not to Harry Potter's eleven-year-old dad.

"Hell no," Christopher grumbled to himself, about to turn back around. "Look," he said warily. "If you don't know what it means, don't use it," Christopher said to James over his shoulder. He paused. "And don't tell your mum or you dad or anyone that it was me that taught you that word. I don't want to get skinned alive."

"Don't worry, mate," James smirked. He crossed his arms against his chest triumphantly. "A Potter never betrays his friends."

"We're not friends," Christopher grumbled.

"And especially not his crewmates," James said, smirking to himself proudly.

"And we're definitely not crewmates," Christopher said. But it seemed James ignored him. He was apparently too busy rolling around on the floor.

James rolled across the floor like a hotdog until he bumped against Christopher's feet. Christopher stood and stared down at him, irked.

"Hi." James grinned, hands on his stomach.

 _Forget Stag,_ Christopher thought as he removed his feet from under James and stepped over him. _This one and the other are dogs. Both dogs._

 _Okay, well I already talked to him,_ Christopher thought to himself, _so now he will leave me alone-_

"I like your robes," James said to Christopher's back.

- _or not_. Christopher glanced at the boy, resigned to his fate. James was looking at him with big brown eyes. _Fine...I'll bite. You hungry mongrel._

James was now propped up on his elbows, lying on his stomach on the floor. "They look cool," James said, staring at Christopher's robes.

"Cool," Christopher said, half-puzzled. Weird ass kid. " I bought them at a thrift shop."

"A what?"

"A thrift shop," Christopher repeated as he leaned against the wall, looking down at James. He almost smirked, but his lips twitched. "You know," he said at James' blank look. "A thrift shop. As in..." Stupid Macklemore. The goddamn song was now playing in his head. " I wear your Grandma's clothes," he said with a smirk. He couldn't help it. "I look incredible."

"No way!" James gasped. "You wear my grandma's clothes? Wow. Whoa. Whoaaaaaaaaaa."

 _What the fuck_ , Christopher thought to himself, stilling. _The kid believed me?_

Sirius smacked his own face. "He's obviously joking," Sirius said. "How could he wear your grandmother's clothes? He's a guy."

"Well," James said in deep thought. "My grandma did crossdress…"

"Or maybe I crossdress," Christopher said, just because.

Silence.

"You wear my grandma's clothes to crossdress?" James said, looking somehow hopelessly confused.

"Well, I don't fucking know," Christopher said. "I suppose you've never been to a thrift shop, kid, but you don't exactly know where all your shit comes from. This could be your grandpa's robes," Christopher said. "Or your cross-dressing grandma's," he said. He shrugged. "Doesn't matter. "He smirked, and held up an arm. "I always wear them better."

Then Christopher turned away, assuming the talk was over.

"Wait-wait-" James grabbed his leg.

Christopher suppressed a groan. "What."

"You said-A thrift shop? A thrift shop?!" James gaped.

"No, really," christopher said dryly.

"Well you were talking about my granny," James pouted. "I got distracted. Oh yeah! And cross dressing. That's wicked. So Wicked. I've never met a crossdresser before. Except my granny. But she's dead." He looked sad for a second. "You would've liked her," he said, very decidedly. "Oh. Wait. Have you worn a dress? My granny's dress? Oh wait, you don't know if you have. Does that mean maybe you've worn my granny's clothes before we even met? It's destiny!" James yelled. "Wait." he paused, staring at the wall. "Does that mean I can see you in a dress?" His eyes were sparkling as he stared at Christopher.

Sirius choked.

"What," Christopher deadpanned.

Then James blinked. "WAIT! You tricked me again! I was talking about thrift shops! Yeah! Thrift Shops! You really went to a thrift shop? WAIT!" Then he narrowed his eyes. "You're not pulling the mickey right…"

"No," Christopher snorted. "Why."

"That's wicked! How was it?" James groaned, hands going to mess in his messy hair. "I keep nagging my mum to go, but she won't let me. It's the worst," he complained. "She won't even let me in a store with...what are they called. Uh, Miscounts?"

"Discounts," Christopher said automatically.

"Yeah those," James said airily. "The commoner stores," he said. "I've never been before!"

Christopher couldn't refrain from snorting. What school was this again? Hogwarts? "Feels like fucking Ouran." Ouran High School was from an anime and it was school for the richest of the rich rich rich who had never been to a supermarket before. James was like Tamaki, or something. Then again, he should have expected it, given the traditional, stuck-up culture of the purebloods. And that both James and Sirius were first-in-line heirs to ancient, richass bloodlines.

Feeling reconciliatory, he muttered, "Maybe I'll take you sometime," as he evaluated his bed. He probably wouldn't actually, but the thought was amusing, taking the Potter heir and probably the Black heir too (attached at the hip as they were) to a thrift store…

The bed curtains were nice. He would have to spell them to only open on his command, or something. Protection spells would be nice.

"YES!" James exclaimed with a fist pump in the air.

"Why would you want to go to a thrift shop?" Sirius complained. He looked like a dog dumped in water. Not happy.

"You haven't heard?" James made a face at Sirius. "Siri-poo," he grabbed the boy's leg. "All the wizards worth anything shop at thrift stores. They're like...treasure places!" James sighed dreamily. "It's like being a pirate...and searching through a pile of trash searching for treasure!" Sirius tried to kick him off, but James was hugging him so tightly Sirius just ended up dragging him around the floor. "This is fun," James said offhandedly. "Is this what being a foot feels like? Getting dragged around everywhere on the floor…"

"You're so heavy!" Sirius growled, pushing James' head. "Get off! Merlin, you're so fat!"

"Fat?!" James shrieked, fake-crying. But he did let go. In order to slap his hands on his cheeks like he'd been horribly shocked. "Honey, how could you say such a thing?!"

"I'm going to kick you," Sirius grumbled.

"Ah!" James flopped on the floor, clutching his heart. "My heart! It's broken!"

Sirius grinned all of a sudden. "Aw, poor Jamsey," he taunted, a spark coming into his eye. He sat on top of James. "Want me to kwiss is all bwetter?" He made a kissey face.

"Why the hell do you have so much energy," Christopher grumbled, not expecting anyone to reply.

James pushed Sirius off him and sat up cross-legged. "Because!" He grinned. "The jailers aren't here!" he practically yelled.

"The parents," Sirius clarified, eyeing Christopher warily but with interest.

"He understand me!" James yelled and hugged Sirius tightly. He grinned, squeezing the choking boy as he talked. "Mum's a Healer so she's always nagging me about healthy this, healthy that." He made a face. "And Dad's an Auror so we have all these security check things around the house. I have to go to boring lessons with boring tutors and they make me brush my hair all the time and change my underwear every day and night, and make my robes straight."

"You better keep changing your underwear," Sirius grumbled.

James continued, "And I'm not allowed to leave bed at night or go outside or whatever or go around alone and I'm not allowed to go to muggle-y places or talk to the neighbour's, and I'm not allowed to swear." Here he looked at Christopher. "Or go to thrift shops," he pouted, burying his face in Sirius' hair. "Even Dumbledore shops at thrift shops."

Christopher twitched. What? Ew. He didn't want to be compared to that guy with the horrendous fashion. Well...Dumbledore did seem like a thrift store kind of guy. Where else did he get his socks? And magical thrift stores were pretty cool. Borgin and Burkes, mentioned in the Harry Potter novels, was also a thrift shop, sort of.

James had a point, Christopher thought amusedly. Dumbledore probably shopped at thrift shops, the Malfoys shopped at thrift shops, Harry Potter the Boy who Lived had stalked Draco into one, and hell...Hell even the _Dark Lord_ shopped at thrift shops. Tom Riddle freaking worked at one. Great wizards did indeed tend to frequent thrift shops.

Ah, Christopher thought, and the Room of Requirement was like a thrift shop...with no prices. Ah. He would definitely have to pay that place a visit as well.

Seeing that James was now being distracted by Sirius, Christopher turned and found his suitcase already set down by a bed. He felt an itch to open it and check that everything was there and no one had taken anything, but he was wary of the other boys' eyes on him.

He was pissed enough upon realizing he was stuck with a bed between James and Sirius. No doubt with how buddy-buddy they already were, the two troublemakers would be gossiping and sniggling (snicker giggling, a.k.a boy giggling) all night.

Did Peter also get stuck with this bed? How the fuck did Peter survive this? Christopher's eyebrow twitched. If it weren't for the magical seals he could feel placed on the beds he would have stole the last bed by the corner, which, speaking of which, was still empty.

"Where's the other kid," Christopher said, looking at the last empty bed.

Just then the door opened, and a pale, skinny kid with brown hair looking unhealthy and miserable skittered inside. "I-I'm Remus L-lupin," the kid stuttered. Without turning his back to them, the kid edged against the wall and then almost dived towards his bed.

To Christopher's surprise, James looked thoroughly disappointed. Sirius looked bored.

"What," Christopher couldn't hold back his curiosity.

James looked at him questioningly. "What what?"

Christopher gestured to his face. "This."

"Oh," James said, pouting. He really was pouting. "I was hoping it would just be us."

Remus flinched.

Christopher raised an eyebrow. That was...cruel.

While James turned to Sirius and they started talking about some dumb card game, Christopher observed the two carefully.

It seemed Sirius Black was wary of most others and rather possessive of James. That, Christopher had predicted. However, James..well, James Potter was not at all what Christopher had expected.

Based on how the novels had portrayed James in the few flashbacks JK Rowling had presented, Christopher would have thought James, being an arrogant bullying "toerag", would have immediately picked Christopher as a target, like he had Severus.

After all, Christopher was poor. He might be wearing his Hogwarts uniform, but the stolen money he'd used hadn't bought him Malfoy quality robes. His hair was sort of messy and he was skinny as he had been in all his lives. Peter, Christopher was sure, had fought hard to grovel at Potter's feet so that Potter would take him in and not bully him. Smart move.

Christopher had purposely ignored James, assuming James would rebuff him and leave him alone, and Sirius would follow accordingly. Black had done the expected, disliked him. Potter on the other hand…

"What," Christopher's eyebrow twitched. James was staring at him. Sirius looked peeved again. "Nothing," James said after a second. "Oh," James blinked. Christopher thought that James had way too much energy. Well, he was eleven. But even Sirius wasn't that hyper. "Play Exploding snap with us, Chris," James demanded. It was a very bossy tone-the kid was probably used to getting what he wanted- but Christopher shrugged it off.

"Nah," Christopher said. "It's dark. I'm out. Don't bother me."

"Okay," James said, surprisingly easily.

He closed the curtains and without changing his clothes, Christopher laid back on his bed, arms crossed behind his head. James had taken an instant...liking to Christopher, but an instant dislike to Lupin. Had James and Sirius disliked Lupin in the original series? Perhaps they had, Christopher thought, given that Lupin was obviously a nervous first year that looked ready to piss himself. James had taken one look at him and the look on James' face screamed that he thought Lupin was a loser.

 _Poor kid_ , he thought distantly. _They'll sort it out themselves,_ he figured. _Whatever._

He wondered how the group of four had gotten together. It appeared that in the beginning, they weren't as unified as they presented themselves as...and he supposed in the end they weren't either.

Despite their 7 years at Hogwarts, living together as roommates, sharing secrets, making vows and such and such, at the end the friends had turned on each other. James and Sirius suspected Remus of being a traitor, a werewolf working for Voldemort. Once James was dead, Remus thought Sirius a traitor and left him in Azkaban for twelve years.

Funnily enough, Peter (who Christopher was gradually growing more and more to darkly admire) ,the actual traitor, was the one able to avoid suspicion.

Sirius suspected Remus. James believed him. James died. Remus blamed Sirius. And everyone trusted Peter.

Poor Poor Peter, they said. Loyal to the end, killed by Sirius Black his childhood friend, trying to defend a street of muggles. Nothing but a finger left of him in this world. Boo hoo hoo. Cry.

Haha.

Truly an excellent rat.

But, Christopher wondered, how had it all started? Everyone knew how it ended, but what of how it began? Was it Peter who had befriended Lupin? Or had Lupin befriended Peter? His brow furrowed. He couldn't imagine James reacting the same way to the original Peter as he had to Christopher.

He supposed it didn't matter.

As usual, Christopher couldn't sleep, and spent the night staring at the cover of the top of his bed, breathing in the magic of the air, feeling out the foreign magic signatures in the room, lying still and urging his twitching, tense body to relax, not fight as he let their magic wash over him in waves. The lights were out and it was dark in the dorm, but he felt like he was in a goddamned disco party, with a ball of neon lights flashing polkadots all over his vision. All the magical presences, all different, some fuzzy and soft to the touch, others scratchy, some smooth as honey, others springy like rubber, they crowded his head and he felt them pressing in on him, pushing, squeezing, rubbing. He turned on his stomach and his ribs pressed into the bed, lungs expanding with heavy breaths. He buried his head and his foot twitched, jerking spasmodically with the panic fizzling through his tense body.

 _Shut up and go to sleep,_ he told both himself, and the magic.

The only thing that calmed him was the steady, strong heart beat of the pulsing magic of the sentient castle. It was grounded and deep like a bass, and the vibrations massaged his chest and evened his shallow breaths.

 _Shut up and go to sleep._

He didn't sleep at all.

. . .

A/N: Okay, this was supposed to be totally different, like Chris would just walk in and ignore them, but then I was writing it and James started talking and I swear I couldn't stop him.

Tell me what you think of Chris and the others! Also, tell me if you have any particular Hogwarts scenes you want to see. :)

Thanks for reading and all the support so far! I hope you enjoyed it. Review please XD


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5:**

" **I hate him!"**

Sirius Black couldn't sleep, because his heart was pounding too fast, because all he could think was that his mother was going to disown him, and yeah, he always wanted to be different from them, but he didn't want for them to look at him like that, like that he was weird, like that he was not good different not good rebellious but bad, just bad, not cool bad not funny bad, but bad like ugly bad, like unwanted bad, like he was worth less, like he was one of "those" people.

(and the eyes last night at dinner all the eyes all the eyes)

He tossed and turned and he dreamed about bad things and he woke up with sore eyes and a sick feeling in his stomach, and he said to himself, it's okay, James Potter was pretty cool and he was gonna be popular and Sirius would be popular like he always was before, just the same, no, even more popular, and they would have fun like idiots together, and that kid Chris, well, they were roommates and Sirius didn't necessarily like Chris that much, there was something...off about him, something that made him feel uneasy on the inside, but Chris would like him, everyone would like him and Hogwarts would be the best seven years ever, and they would be legends, and no one would ever stop them.

.

.

.

6 a.m. and zero hours of sleep, Christopher rolled out of bed in a daze and slogged like a giant slug across the room to the bathroom. 15 minutes later he was still moving like a sloth, all limp hands and dead to the world.

8 a.m he was still standing in the bathroom with a toothbrush sticking out of his mint-frothing mouth, left cheek puffed with toothpaste, dark circles under his aching eyes. He had a left sock halfway on, boxers, and a white button-up shirt that he couldn't seem to button up. He was in zombie mode, left hand fumbling clumsily with buttons, right hand trying to brush his teeth.

Rachmaninoff's vocalise was stuck in his head. S _oy perezoso,_ he sighed, eyelids drooping further, _no quiero hacer nada…._ He looked in the mirror blearily. He had a curl of hair sticking up. _Soy un desast-_

The bathroom door _swung_ open

-banging Christopher on the forehead.

 _re..._

There was a second of silence, where the only thing heard was the door making a Doinging sound as it vibrated from the collision. Christopher's head panged viciously.

"Oh,"a boy said dully as he stuck his head of black hair through the door. He stared at his victim with large grey eyes.

Christopher's brows pinched. _This kid..._ He took the toothbrush out of his mouth and turned to face the boy to say something. " Uh…"

He stared at the boy.

Wait.

Okay, so long explanation short, for Christopher, these kinds of moments were not uncommon. It happened all the time, randomly. He could be standing somewhere and space out, and then when he zoned back in he might get confused. Sometimes he would be talking to someone and call them the name of someone from his previous life who looked similar. Sometimes he spoke the wrong language. When he was going places, sometimes he forgot where he was going and where he lived, and sometimes he walked to a house that in one life had been his, but in that life wasn't. Toto, is this Kansas? Or is this Zimbabwe?

Christopher was still holding the toothbrush, boxers hanging off skinny hipbones, eyelids drooping with sleep. "Who are you?"

Silence.

The boy gaped, then burst out laughing. It was a kind of sardonic laugh, with wide grey eyes, and it ended in a sardonic looking smirk. "Nice one, Pettigrew," he said.

They stared at each other.

"Uh," Christopher said.

The boy's face melted. "...You can't be serious."

A second pause.

"Oh-right, YOU'RE Sirius," Christopher exclaimed, pointing his toothbrush at the boy.

The boy was gaping for real.

There was silence in the bathroom. Christopher shrugged, washed his toothbrush, and spit out in the sink. "See you," he said, thinking he was being pretty nice this morning, actually greeting people.

 _Good job,_ he thought to himself as he walked out of the bathroom. He was feeling pretty satisfied. He remembered what life/universe he was in and what the kid's name was in under 10 seconds. Huh. Well. _Not bad,_ he thought, nodding, _not too shabby._

 _._

.

.

8:15 am.

Sirius Orion Black was standing in the bathroom, in his pajamas, alone, staring after a boy that literally came out of nowhere, cared about nothing, and his eyes widened and as Christopher Pettigrew brushed past him. Their sleeves touched, and Sirius felt a cold whooshing through him like he'd been sucker punched.

 _What?_

He turned after Christopher but nothing came out of his mouth.

 _He -what?_

It was a strange moment of absolute shock, shock so sudden he blinked and he had to swallow heavy. He forgot me, Sirius realized. And his fingers crawled and danced and squeezed into his palms.

It was…

Upsetting.

(because we just met yesterday and how come he doesn't like me, and well I didn't like him but isn't he supposed to like me, and aren't I funny and he only likes James, and this isn't supposed to be the way Hogwarts goes, but I thought we were going to be friends)

It was a shock. These people weren't his family or his relatives, Sirius realized with a cold start. Sirius had been spoiled before, he'd been lectured before, but he'd never been forgotten before. And the boy hadn't hated him for his family, and he hadn't been picking a fight, and he had looked at Sirius so blankly, and with a harsh swallow, Sirius realized that Hogwarts was different-no, Slytherin would've been the same, people trying to kiss up to him, people always looking at him, people- that Gryffindor was different.

(Or, as he would later realize, maybe, that boy is just different)

 _He forgot me. No, stupid, you're being stupid_ , Sirius told himself as he stared at himself in the mirror, _it's a joke, he's joking, no bloody way he could've forgotten I mean yeah we only met yesterday, but I know his name! We're roommates for Merlin's sake! And okay so maybe I wasn't that friendly or anything, but even if I was a jerk, he couldn't have forgotten, that doesn't make any sense_ and, and- but he couldn't stop thinking about it. The doubt was there.

(no one cares about you they're all fake acting liars)

He frowned.

.

.

.

The first day of classes, when everyone started to do magic, it was like he was being pulled apart at the seams. He couldn't breathe. It was horrible. Their magics became stringy and goopy gigantic blobs- overwhelming. He blinked and he saw it, colors, dizzy. He was pretty sure he'd passed out.

Christopher came to when the the lesson ended. He waited for every single person to leave. His head felt light, like it was bobblehead filled with air and his neck was like a plastic stick holding it up. He felt like his legs were rubber and his stomach was so tightly clenched he could feel a soreness, an ache in his hips and his stomach. He peeled himself out of the chair and realized he'd sweated all over it. Nice. Great. He dipped out of the classroom before Flitwick could see him.

Then he saw her.

He stuck to Lily like a snapped rubber band. He stood next to her, and it took her all of five seconds to realize he was sort of at her shoulder but looking away.

Lily turned and made a surprised noise. "Chris!"

"'Ello to you to," Christopher said, hand falling instinctively on her poofy head.

She looked up at him and her face lit up. Ah yes, he thought idly, Lily had these large green eyes and was looking at him rather like a guinea pig. And goddammned were guinea pigs the cutest things Christopher had ever seen.

(Could he get a guinea pig in this life? God please god)

The girls were giggling like crazy.

"See you at lunch," said one of the girls, with long brown hair. Then the group of three girls wandered off giggling together.

"Looks like the friends thing went over well," Christopher said as they walked away.

"...Yeah…." Lily sounded like a dying puppy. Wilting shoulders first.

What a horrible liar, Christopher thought.

"Sooo…" Christopher said, diverting the topic. "How's the weather."

Lily was so busy staring at her shoes that she didn't hear.

Christopher sighed, and walked to stand in her path. If he hadn't grabbed her shoulders, she would've walked right into him.

"I just…" Lily looked down. "We're friends right?" She looked at him with big eyes.

"...Yeah," Christopher said, wondering what he was getting himself into. "Sure."

"Well," Lily said. "I made a big mistake," Lily said, very sadly, head hanging.

"Well," Christopher said. "It couldn't have been that bad," he mused. "They were walking with you, right? And laughing."

"Giggling," Lily said sadly. "That's 'cause they like you."

"They giggle because they like you," Christopher repeated, a little confused.

"No, they giggle 'cause they like _you_ ," Lily said, peeking up from her hair.

"Ohhhh," Christopher said lazily. "Oh," He scratched his head. "Uh….okay." He cleared his throat. "Okay, so moving on...er moving backwards…" He stopped walking and stood in front of Lily.

Lily looked at him. "What?" With innocent eyes.

"Your mistake?" Christopher prompted. "What's the mistake?"

Lily gasped. "Oh yeah! Err…." she trailed off, looking away uneasily. "Dasfmkdmf," she murmured something unintelligible into her shoulder.

"Can't hear you," Christopher said.

Lily pouted.

Christopher sighed and let his hands rest on both of her shoulders. "Oi, look at me," he said. She pouted more, but met his eye, shiftily. "Okay. If you made a mistake, or whatever, you can tell me. Everyone's making mistakes, you know, it's the first day of school, everyone makes mistakes."

"Er…" Lily looked down. Bit her lip.

"You don't have to tell me," Christopher said, "if you don't want to." _But you did bring it up,_ he thought, _so I'm assuming you want to tell me_.

"Errrrrrrrr." Lily bit her lip more.

Christopher sighed, and started to walk away. "Well, then I'm sure-"

"-So now I'm pretty sure they're pretending to like me but they don't actually like me, because I'm really really weird, and I don't know what to do!" Lily burst.

Christopher backpedaled. "Okay, slow down Little Lady, how'd we get to there?"

"It's a long story! No, it's short," Lily said, shaking her head furiously. "But it's sooo embarrassing.." she said, covering her face. "I can't tell it!"

"Please do," Christopher said.

"Okay," Lily said, nodding to herself, and looked up determinedly. "So we were in the dorm, right, and we were all trying to get to know each other... so we said we were gonna do introductions or something."

Christopher nodded. "Okay."

"And Mary said she liked to draw, and Alice said she liked to sing, and then Marlene said she liked boys, so I said I liked football."

Christopher scratched his head. "As in, kick the ball football, yeah?" He'd been in too many countries not to ask.

Lily nodded. "Yeah! You know it, right!" Her eyes lit up.

"...Yeah," Christopher said.

"Right! Of course you know it!" Lily pouted. "You know, they said, what is football! They didn't know at all, never heard of it, they said."

"Wizards and witches," Christopher sighed.

"Are you muggleborn?" Lily's head snapped to him.

"Half," he said. Well, according to records, anyway. He blinked and realized Lily was looking at him confused. "Uh…" he said, scratching his cheek. "One parent magical, one parent not," he said.

"Ohhhhh," Lily said. "I'm muggleborn," she said, happily. I'm random! Randomly magical. That's what my parents say anyway. Isn't that cool?"

Christopher blinked. "...Yeah," he said. Oh boy, he thought dryly, that attitude wouldn't last very long here. Apparently, the poor kid hadn't encountered any blood purists yet. Haha...jerks.

"Anyway," Lily said, "they didn't know what football was, and so, I asked, how do they not know football? And Marlene laughed and said, none of us know it, so you must be making it up." Lily frowned. "And I got a little mad, of course, because I love football, and lots of people know football. So I said I would show them."

"Oh?" Christopher raised a brow.

"Here's the bad part." Lily groaned.

"Oi,oi, you're almost there. You were doing good. " Christopher patted her head.

Lily straightened up, determined once more. "And then I said we should play sometime, and everyone was asking how do they play, so I said okay, I can show you-" She stopped abruptly and turned to Christopher. "Okay, so first please don't tell anyone this," she rushed.

"I promise," Christopher said.

"So I ran at the ball and I fell over it, like over it, onto my stomach and it hurt kind of bad." Lily rubbed her stomach.

"Ouch," Christopher said, eyebrows rising. He was a little concerned about the state of his human lifesaver, given that she appeared to be physically unstable. Nobody said anything about this in the books. Only about Lily's nice green eyes, and how she was good at potions, and some drama with Snape and blah blah, all this nice romantic hoogabaloo. None of this klutzy awkward eleven year old Lily in front of him right now.

"No no, I'm not usually clutzy," Lily sighed, knowing exactly what he was thinking. "But I was really nervous, you see."

"Ahhhhh," Christopher said and nodded. He could see that. She was definitely a nervous person. "Well, that's not so bad," he said.

"That's not the bad part," Lily said.

Oh boy, Christopher thought.

"I know," Lily said, frowning along and nodding. "It was really very bad. Anyway," she shook her head. "And so, after that, I said, let me try again, because I got very nervous, right? Even more nervous than before. I really wanted them to like me, so I thought I'll kick it really good this time and they'll like me then, so I ran and gave it a really good kick."

"Okay."

Lily inhaled deeply.

Christopher waited.

"-AndthenithitMarleneintheface," Lily cried.

Christopher startled. "What? Who?"

"The really pretty blonde girl," Lily said.

"Okay... so we hit Barbie in the face, and is that it," Christopher said, wanting to laugh but trying not to.

"No," Lily said.

Christopher's eyebrows were on the verge of crawling into his hairline.

"So, the ball bounced off her face and then it flew like this," Lily very determinedly reenacted with her body in a curve, "and BAHM!"

She threw her arms out and whacked an unsuspecting Christopher in the face.

"Gah!" He dropped to the ground in a crouch.

"Oh my goodness! I am so sorry!" Lily rushed to the ground and hugged him. "Are you okay?"

Actually, he was internally amazed, because her magic was currently both frizzing with nerves and panic, and hovering over his back like a weirdly comforting blanket. Aside from his aching face, it felt pretty nice. Saving him from what would probably be an instant panic attack.

"What was the bahm for," Christopher groaned. He just wanted to know what he got hit in the face for.

"It was for empha...empha...elephants," Lily said concernedly. "Are you okay."

"Elephants? What...The emphasis?" Christopher groaned.

"Yeah! The emephemis."

"For what? Emphasis for what?" Christopher groaned.

"For the end of the story," Lily said apologetically. "I am so sorry. I wanted to say THE END, but then I thought that sounds too aggressive right, like too angry, and I didn't want to sound angry, so I sound bahm instead. Oh god." Lily covered her face and turned away. "Oh no...what was I thinking? I am so sorry! I hit you in the face! God! I'm horrible!"

Okay. His human lifesaver was officially bat bags insane. And a complete airhead. He could no longer imagine James Potter and Lily Evans together without world apocalypse coming to mind. No wonder Voldemort came to kill them and their child, he thought. Their combined airheaded wildness would end the world.

"Am I a bad person," Lily said sadly, clutching at her hair.

Oh no...Christopher sighed. He was contemplating how doomed he was in this life, that his lifesaver with her nice nice magic was apparently a hazard to this world. Well, when she was nervous at least.

Well, he thought to himself, staring at the wall. He could work with this. This was workable. Yes, this Lily was a klutz, an airhead, and actually kind of amusing. And her magic was good. Yes, he could definitely work with this.

"My fellow lightsaber," Christopher said, throwing his arm around Lily's shoulder. Her magic actually made it feel nice to stand close to her. Hm. Interesting. "It is time you accept the truth."

Lily looked at him. "The truth?"

Christopher deadpanned."You're weird."

She gaped. "I'm what?"

"You're weird." Christopher grinned. "Join the crowd." He drew his hand across the sky like a rainbow. " We have cookies."

"You do?" Lily gaped. "Can I have some?"

"Well, we have to make them, but furthermore we must plan," he said.

"Plan what?" Lily asked.

"Your world domination plan," Christopher said, leading her down the hall with his arm around her shoulder. "Naturally. How else do people make friends?"

"And also," Christopher said, "we _have_ to play football sometime."

Lily's face lit up.

 _Meanwhile…_

"Who is that girl?!" James whispered, eyes wide. He snapped his head back to Sirius with wide eyes. "He's talking to a girl!"

"Maybe he's flirting," Sirius said and smirked. "Is she ugly?"

"All girls are ugly," James said with a huff. "We're a crew! Of Mates! For Life!" James said with emphasis. "We don't like girls! Ever! Ever!" He started to pace back and forth.

"He put his arm around her," Sirius said as he took a peek. He snickered. "Oooohhh."

James gasped. "No!" He stuck his head around the corner. Sirius had to pull him back when James almost fell over. "But...But…" he sputtered.

"What," Sirius said, now getting amused.

"Why are they so friendly," James hissed as he bent his head around the wall again.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Oi, mate, don't we have class to get to? It starts in what…10 minutes?"

"They're gone," James said, and exhaled heavily. Very heavily.

"Thank Merlin," Sirius grumbled.

"What do we do!" James yelled, grabbing Sirius by the shoulders and shaking him. "Maybe," James said to himself, "he's just shy. He's shy and that's why he likes her better. No!" James yelled. "He doesn't like her better, he likes us the best! We're besties! We're mates!"

"Can we go now," Sirius deadpanned.

"We'll get him back," James said firmly to himself.

"Okay, now can you stop hugging me," Sirius said. James had, in the midst of his panicking, squeezed the life out of Sirius.

"I love you," James said, smiling.

Sirius punched him.

.

.

The broom, Christopher mused, was goddamned ridiculous. He thought they all looked ridiculous too, with a stick between their legs. He wondered about the choice of the broomstick; sure, it was an aerodynamic shape with the thinness and smoothness of the broom handle, but what of the end of the broomstick? He supposed the bristles could be used to decelerate, to cause sudden stoppage so as to change direction...Would the bristles get soggy if it rained? Would it become a mop? Could wizards fly on mops? Or even better, Swiffer?

Well, whatever.

Everything Madame Hooch said sounded inappropriate to him. He stared at her with a blank face. He boredly wondered if she was laughing on the inside about how many horrid "broom" puns she could make.

"Psst," James waved for his attention. "Aren't you excited!" His eyes lit up.

"Uh," Christopher said. He thought about himself on a broomstick. "Not particularly."

"Boys, I can see that you are very excited, but there is no reason for your broom to be sticking up in the air like that," Hooch said to James and Christopher. "That's not proper standard. You must control yourselves."

Christopher choked, and covered it with a cough. Madame seemed to think he was having difficulties. "Mr. Pettigrew, there is no need to be concerned. The equipment may be old but it is not damaged. It is well-functional. You must ride it properly. It may seem long and rather hard and uncomfortable right now, but it will eventually fit comfortably between your legs. It is all a matter of getting used to the feeling."

Christopher stared.

"Lower your broom, Potter," she said. "It is still raised too high."

James pouted and lowered his broom a little. "I know how to do this," he whined.

"No, Mr. Potter, you are a young and inexperienced flier. Now grip the shaft," Madame Hooch was saying.

Christopher was starting to wonder if this was secretly a Sex Ed class. What if this was Hogwarts way of having a Sex Ed class without having to go through the parents? Was this the wizarding version of the birds and the bees? Was this a Sex Ed class taught in innuendos and everyone knew except him?

"Are you gripping your shaft, Mr. Pettigrew?" Hooch said as she stood in front of him.

Christopher's eyebrows slowly raised.

"Not too tightly," she said, "but firmly. You musn't be nervous. But you always musn't grip too tightly, or the broom may jerk in your hands."

"The brooms seem very sensitive," Christopher remarked airily. The Sex Ed theory was starting to look pretty realistic.

"Very sensitive," Madame Hooch nodded seriously. "Mr. Pettigrew, your grip is still too lax."

Christopher sighed, and gripped the broom.

"Closer to the base," she said.

 _Whoa, lady. Hold up._

"Oh," he said, "kay."

"That ought to feel much better," she said. "Wait, you mustn't allow it to sag like that," she said. "Keep it between your legs! Clench your thighs."

Well, he thought as he stood in the middle of a field by a castle with a bunch of eleven year olds, an old lady, and clenched a broomstick between his legs, I guess this is something I haven't done before.

.

.

.

Sirius called them the Series of Siriusly Unfortunate Events.

Starting with the bathroom incident where Chris forgot his name. Then, the time it was the first Charms class and James wasn't in the class. Sirius took for granted Chris would sit with him because they were "mates", but no! Chris came in with that stupid redheaded girl and didn't even look at him. He left Sirius sitting there with an empty seat next to him like a loser! Which then, of course, loser Lupin of all people, came and sat in. Sirius spent the entire class glaring at Chris, but Chris didn't even look! Jerk.

Then, one morning, Sirius was annoyed. James had spent a grand thirty minutes trying to convince Christopher Pettigrew to get out of bed and come to breakfast with them. James had opened the curtains to Christopher's bed, and Christopher just pulled the blanket over his head more and slept on. Or whatever he was doing. He couldn't be sleeping! No one could sleep through James running around the dorm, literally attempting to jump off the walls (didn't go so well), singing princess songs about beautiful mornings and rise and shine.

The other loser kid (what was his name again? Luper? Loopy?) had ducked and ran out of the room after James glared at him in the bathroom that morning.

"Let's go," Sirius kept saying, gradually getting more and more irritated. Finally, Sirius sighed, opened the dorm door, and said loudly, "He's never going to come, James. Let's go." And as if on cue, specifically to prove him wrong, Christopher Pettigrew, after thirty minutes of absolute silence, said at the exact same time as Sirius had swore he wasn't coming, "Yeah yeah, I'm coming," and rolled out of bed completely dressed with messy bed hair that somehow looked natural on him.

As Sirius gaped at him, Christopher walked out the door, past Sirius who was still holding the door open. "Thanks, mate," Christopher said lazily as he passed Sirius.

Sirius had half a mind to move his foot and let the door slam shut on the back of the guy's head.

Days passed, and the string of irritating Chris-incidents only seemed to increase.

Sirius couldn't count the number of times Christopher walked right past Sirius as if not noticing him, then when Sirius got mad, Christopher forgot his name, all the time! And it was so annoying, because it wasn't as though Christopher forgot everyone's name! Christopher always remembered James' name and Lily's name, and even Lupin's name, but when it came to Sirius, ti was like Christopher was going out of his way to be annoying and piss Sirius off.

 _So what if he doesn't like me,_ Sirius thought to himself angrily. _Well, whatever! I don't like him either!_

Sirius decided that he was really starting to hate the guy.

"I don't like him," he said to James one day, when Christopher was in the room. He was staring at Christopher's back as the boy messed around in his beat-up looking suitcase. He wanted Christopher to hear him. "He's annoying."

Christopher didn't pause, didn't show any signs of hearing.

"He's-

All of a sudden, Christopher paused.

Sirius thought, _got him_ , and smirked.

Then Christopher ducked under the bed, and squirmed out holding something in his hands. He tilted his head to the side, then made a noise of a hum of some sort. Christopher stood, and walked over to them.

"What do you want," Sirius said, provocatively. _What are you gonna do now, loser?_

James watched, seeming curious enough to let Sirius do what he wanted.

"Oh...uh…" Christopher paused. "Uh…" There was a pause. His eyes darted down, and Sirius noted that Christopher was looking at the book cover, lower left. "...Sirius." He cleared his throat. "Here, your book," Christopher said. "It was under my bed." He handed the book to Sirius.

It was his missing Charms textbook.

Sirius took the book, and looked at where Christopher had looked. Sirius Orion Black, was scrawled across the cover.

Sirius gaped. "You just read my name off the corner of the book! You forgot my name again!"

"I'm sorry," Christopher said, sounding not very sorry, rubbing the back of his head. "Anyway, here's your book."

Christopher was about to walk away, but Sirius had had enough.

"Stop pretending to forget my name," Sirius growled.

"What?" Christopher blinked. He rubbed the back of his head. "I do that?"

"This is like the fiftieth time!" Sirius yelled.

"Oh," Christopher said. "Really?"

"YES," Sirius growled.

"Oh," Christopher said. He rubbed his chin.

"What's your problem, "Sirius growled.

"Oh," Christopher said. Then he blinked. "Are you _mad_?" he said, eyebrows raising.

 _Of course I'm mad, you idiot!_ Sirius thought to himself, grinding his teeth. "No," Sirius spat.

"Oh," Christopher said, frowning. "Well. Don't worry," he said. "It's not you, it's me. Sorry."

Sirius stared at him.

"I just get _lost_ , you know." He rubbed the back of his head.

"Lost? Lost where?" Sirius said incredulously.

"Oh, you know... the road of life," Christopher said airily. "It's very long, you know, very windy." He drew a windy path with his finger. "Lots of trees. No signs...You know. " He shrugged. "Very easy to get lost."

"Are you kidding me."

"One day you'll understand. A little," Christopher said. Then paused, frowning. "Maybe." He patted Sirius on the shoulder, as if Sirius were a dog to be pitied, and then walking away to climb into his bed.

James blinked, and Sirius had never been more infuriated in his life.

"I hate him," Sirius swore, throwing his book on the floor angrily. "I bloody hate him."

But, just as Sirius had decided that he very firmly hated all bits and pieces of Christopher Pettigrew's existence, then came the most surprising Event. The most confusing and the most infuriating event of all the Siriusly Unfortunate Events starring Christopher Pettigrew.

It was on the way to the Great Hall.

Sirius, James and Christopher were walking through the hall for breakfast when a trio of Slytherin boys stood in front of them. "Black," said one of the boys, "traitor... blood traitor," hissing.

Sirius tensed. This wasn't the first time this had happened. Sirius was now getting used to getting insults spat at him from the Slytherins, ever since that stupid letter from his mother yelling at him in the Great Hall. Merlin, it was awful. Now all the Slytherins saw it as free reign to insult the heir of the Black House.

James had been with him before, as Sirius and James went everywhere together, but Christopher who often disappeared, had never been there when something like this happened before, and Sirius felt a whoop of shame and embarrassment through him. What would he think?

Seeing Sirius look down, James' fist clenched and he was about to step forward and pummel them, when suddenly, James and Sirius were looking at the back of a brown head of hair.

"Good God, go _home_ ," Christopher said dully. "Or at least back to your room." He had his book bag on his shoulder, hands in pockets. His chestnut brown hair was a little tousled. His eyelids fell low over his eyes. He looked like everything was a bore. Half-asleep, dull. He was skinny as a bone bag but the way he walked it was like his sneakers were slippers. He walked like he was in underclothes in his own basement, such was the ease and carelessness with which he wandered the halls.

"Who are you," the boy in the center of the trio sneered as he stepped forward.

"Good question," Christopher said dryly.

The boy then waited for an answer. None came. When he realized that Christopher was done answering, the boy frowned.

"Get out of my way," he said. "I'm not talking to you." When Christopher just stared blankly, the boy waved his wand around. "I'll curse you!"

"Wow," Christopher said slowly, not sounding wowed at all. "You're very aggressive."

The boy growled, and his finger flung out to point at Sirius. "Fine then! I'll have you know, he's not worth being friends with! He's a blood traitor! A disgrace to his family!"

Sirius swallowed heavily. He felt his stomach clench and a weak feeling in his legs. _Don't listen don't listen don't listen._

"Oh my," Christopher gasped dramatically. "Santa found a bad boy!"

 _What?_ Sirius frowned.

"-what?" the boy sputtered, mirroring Sirius' thoughts.

Christopher snorted. "Oh, come on," Christopher said, sounding exasperated. "He didn't even _do_ anything yet. It's like, what-the third day or school or something?"

"Third week," James whispered to Christopher.

"Oh," Christopher said. "Actually then, did he?" Christopher looked behind him at Sirius. "Did you?"

"I didn't do anything," Sirius grumbled sourly.

"See, he says he didn't do anything," Christopher turned back around and said.

"He has done everything," the boy hissed.

"Uh…." Christopher said. "Everything? Already?"

"No," the boy hissed. "Since long ago! Are you insane?"

"Okay…" Christopher raised his eyebrows. "Sorry, do you have a long history then?"

"What?"

"I mean," Chris said, shrugging helplessly. "Here I was, man, thinking you just met, but apparently you've known each other your whole _lives_ or something-

"I don't even know who that is," Sirius muttered to Christopher.

"Okay…" Christopher said, "so you never met. I see." He nodded, then shook his head. "Naaah, actually I don't see, nevermind," Chris sighed.

"We've been at parties together!" The boy was getting more and more angry. He turned to Chris. "How can you not see, he's a blood traitor!" The boy turned to the other Slytherin boys behind him. "Right?"

They nodded furiously with wide eyes.

"See," the boy spat. "Sirius Black is a disgusting blood traitor. You don't want to be seen with him. Just letting you know."

Sirius moved to step forward. James growled. Christopher held out a hand though, for them to stop. Sirius blinked.

 _Is he…?_

"Who's blood," Chris said to the boy.

"His family blood!"

"Are you in his family," Chris said, sighing.

"No, but-"

"Are you his fiance?" Chris said.

"No, but-"

"Are you Regina George," Chris said flatly.

"No."

"Are you in any way directly connected to his blood," Chris said.

"Yes -"

"So you got a blood donation."

"No, but-"

"Okay so...he doesn't even know you, and you're not part of his family, and you're not going to be part of his family ever," Chris said.

"Yes but-"

"And you're sure you're not Regina George," Chris said.

"What? Who is that?"

"So...you're getting paid," Chris said.

"What? No."

"Then why the fuck are you in the middle of the hallway? At 8 a.m. in the morning, rise and shine, shouting insults, boy, I almost thought you were unionized labor," Chris said.

"Except there is no unionized labor," Chris said and sighed. "We use slaves." Chris rubbed his forehead, seemingly stressed. Then he looked up. "Anyway, can you get out of the way," Chris said face first to the boy.

"Don't you know who I am!" the boy seethed.

Chris stared at the boy, and frowned. "Team Rocket?"

The boy gaped.

"Look, kid, I'm sorry." Chris held up his hands and shrugged. "I dunno who the fuck you are. Obviously you're not very notable in canon." At the kid's aghast face, Chris waved it away. "What, it's not my fault, blame JK Rowling." Chris said all of this very dryly, with the most blank face James and Sirius had ever seen.

"You…." the boy growled.

"Wow," Chris said, strolling right past the boy. "Tween hormones. Are there magical hormones, I wonder." Now he was talking to himself. "Well it seems that magic tends to manifest and is affected by emotions hence outbursts of accidental magic when a wizard or witch feels panicked, is magic affected by hormones, do hormones affect magic, " he mumbled to himself, completely not noticing the boy he had left behind in the hallway.

"How dare you!" the boy yelled. He seemed to get angrier and angrier as Christopher appeared to not notice him. "Urrrr…" The boy burst. "I'll get you back!" And he stomped angrily away, having completely forgotten Sirius. "Come on!" he yelled at the two goons following him. They disappeared down the end of the hall.

Sirius blinked, staring at Christopher's back, momentarily frozen. _Did he just…?_

 _Defend me…?_

James and Sirius stood still in place, until James jumped into action.

"Did you see that," James whispered.

Slowly he grinned ear to ear, grabbed Sirius shoulders. "He is soooo bloody awesome! Wicked! Wicked, mate! Wicked, wicked!"

Sirius was speechless. How could Christopher Pettigrew be so horrible one moment and so...who even knew the next? No one had ever stood up for Sirius like that before. James would growl and jump to punch or draw wands, and that was really great, but James was always rowdy, James was always ready to fight or kick or get attention.

But Christopher was so lazy and and didn't talk, didn't fight, and never cared and never did anything, and so for him step up and do something like that, it was, it was….

Sirius wanted to hate him but...then he did something like that?

Sirius swallowed. He felt a little…

Warm.

When they approached the Great Hall, Sirius let James walk ahead to them, and slowly dropped back. James was starving, apparently, and ran straight for the doors. Sirius stopped by Christopher, who was just kind of standing a good distance from the doors, not moving.

"Oi…" Sirius said to Christopher.

Christopher stopped talking to himself about statistics or data analysis or something ridiculous like that and turned around slowly. He blinked. "Hm?"

"About before… I…"

"Oh, that," Christopher said slowly. "Oh," he looked at the ceiling. "Don't worry about that, he was blocking the hall, you know just doing some public service," Christopher said, and yawned.

Sirius looked down. "I just...I just wanted to say…" He swallowed. "Thanks…"

Christopher nodded. And stared off into the distance.

Sirius stood there in silence. He began to feel awkward. Twitched. "Um," Sirius said.

Christopher startled. "Oh wait, sorry, what?" Christopher said. "Sorry, did you say something? I was...yeah."

Sirius gaped. Yeah? YEAH? What the hell did that mean, yeah?! "Did you even hear what I said before!"

"What?" Christopher sighed, looking half-annoyed. "Sorry, I was...thinking about something else. You know."

Sirius couldn't believe it. "What?" he exclaimed again. "No way."

"Well, if it was that important, can't you just say it again. I'm listening now," Christopher said.

Sirius suppressed a growl. His eyebrow twitched. "Never mind," Sirius spat out, and pushed past Christopher.

Christopher stared at the Great Hall doors, sighed, rubbed the side of his temple, and walked away down the hall.

At breakfast, Sirius would feel a little bad, later, staring at the door, and then the empty seat James always saved for Christopher, wondering why Christopher didn't come to eat breakfast. Then again, Christopher never seemed hungry anyway, and skipped breakfast a lot...but today he had gotten out of bed to come!

Is it my fault? Sirius wondered, frowning. But then he was mad, because why didn't Christopher come after him? _When someone storms away from you angrily, isn't it common sense you're supposed to run after them and_ apologize! Why was Christopher Pettigrew so bloody hard to understand?!

Sirius growled.

"You look mad," James said with wide eyes.

"I am mad!" Sirius yelled.

"I'm sorry!" James eeked. "Here, you can have my strawberry," he said and proceeded to shove his fork of half eaten strawberry blindly in Sirius face.

Smearing strawberry all over Sirius face.

"I hate him," was all Sirius said, not even seeming to notice the strawberry.

"I'm sorry!" James said. " I didn't mean to. Well actually I did. Maybe. No, but I-"

"No. I hate him," Sirius said. "I hate Chris."

"Oh," James said. "Ohhhhhhhhhhh."

Sirius glared.

"Well. It's normal to be jealous of your competition," James said with a shrug.

"What competition."

"For my hand in marriage," James said as he shoveled food into his mouth, like he was talking about the weather.

Sirius, despite himself, snorted. "You're horrible," he said, and and flicked a bean at James' face.

"Oi!"

Sirius grinned. And dumped his plate on James, yelling, "Food fight!"

And that was how they ended up with detention for the next three months.

.

.

.

Christopher could do magic on his own all so fine. Doing it in classroom, he felt like he was being violated. It was gross. He felt a shiver down his spine. He put his head down on the desk and tried to close his eyes.

It was like some sort of anxiety, he thought tiredly to himself, trying to bury his face in his arm. James was sitting next to him, and Sirius was glaring at him. Their presences were at least a little familiar. Even if Sirius' aura grated on his like sparked electricity, at least they weren't vomit inducing patterns of tie dye rubbing against each other like a drunk mosh pit like everyone else was.

James laid his head down next to Christopher, and Christopher poked an eye open. "Yeah?" Christopher said.

"Hi," James said. James frowned, and his cheek was pressed against the desk and his big brown eyes were staring into Christopher's and he looked earnestly concerned. "You look sad," James determined.

"No," Christopher laughed tiredly. " _You_ look sad," Christopher said, feeling a little soft. James looked uncharacteristically worried. James' face was uncomfortably close to his, but he was also find of blocking out everyone else with his magic. It softened the noise.

James seemed to be examining him deeper. Brown eyes trying to see deeper into him.

"I'm just tired. Don't worry," Christopher said. "Go study."

"Did you sleep at all last night?" James was surprisingly perceptive. And direct. "You didn't sleep at all," he decided. "You don't normally sleep well, do you? This isn't new, is it?"

"Congratulations, Sherlock," Christopher dragged, eyelids drooping. He exhaled heavily.

"Oh…" James frowned deeper. "Mum says that's not good for you. I'm sorry if we bothered you yesterday. You should go to bed."

Christopher said, "Don't worry about it."

James continued to lay there with his head on the desk next to Chris, facing him, thinking, it seemed. Or maybe just watching. With his ear pressed to the desk, the classroom was quiet.

"Are you scared?" James said quietly.

Christopher blinked.

"Of other people," James said, staring him dead in the eye. "Are you scared?"

"Mr. Potter! Mr. Pettigrew!" McGonagall's yells startled Christopher. He bolted up in the seat and for whatever reason, the sight of the tall skinny woman with bony fingers and a wand smacking into her hand, looming over the desk, and all he could see was

"Mother." Christopher shrunk.

The bell rang.

Sirius did something, with a spell, and a poof of smoke went in the air. Sirius laughed loudly, and the classroom erupted in laughter and squeals, and when Mcgonagall turned around, Peter "Christopher" Pettigrew had vanished, and James Potter was frowning very deeply.

She would have to keep an eye on those boys, she thought to herself later that day.

.

.

.

Christopher stormed into the dorm and tossed his wand on the ground.

"Excuse me…" Remus said in a small voice. "I, um… I just wanted to know if you know… the-the homework for...for…"

His magic felt horrible.

Mother mother mother

" _What_ ," Christopher bit. He went to his bed and turned his back to Remus.

Remus was saying something, maybe, but Christopher couldn't hear it. He wanted to close his eyes, suck in a breath. Scratchy agitated itchy. Hay. Remus' goddamned werewolf magic was leaking like sour pus, Christopher thought. It was itchy and unstable and a weird mix of yellow and other gook; it felt sickly and it was scratchy as prickly fibers in some places where the softness and roughness wouldn't even out. And it rubbed right against him, a warning, a feral beast rubbing saliva wet back against him, and Remus was looking at him.

Like a wet snout up his shirt.

"Could you stop," Christopher growled, turning around. "It feels like a goddamned..." He cut off suddenly, clutching his head. His brows creased; Remus thought he looked like he was in a lot of pain.

"W-what?" Remus stuttered.

"Am I the only person that feels this?" Christopher asked, looking at Remus all of a sudden. "How can no one else notice?" Christopher's voice cracked. "Don't you people notice this, doesn't it bother you at all? Or all of you just oblivious?"

"What?" Remus stuttered. He stepped closer.

Something in Christopher snapped.

"Your _magic_ , goddamit!" Christopher yelled. He was breathing heavily. Remus was too close. His magic was too close. Too close. Christopher stumbled back. "Your _magic_ ," it was almost whimper, of pain, as he clutched his head.

First Remus was confused. Then his face turned white.

Christopher crawled into bed and yanked the curtains closed.

(not chill, so not chill, aye dios mio, so not chill, aw god fuck it) He stuffed the pillow over his head.

.

.

.

 _He knows,_ Remus thought. And trembled. _He knows._

(He can't know? How could he know. He just said-your magic- Does he know? But he can feel it…) Remus swallowed and felt his body sink into the sheets that felt like they were strangling, and his magic was curling in sick knots, and he wanted his magic to go away too, he was sorry, but the wolf was anxious and he was anxious and and (but he can feel it…)

Remus turned on his stomach and buried his face in the pillow.

.

.

.

 **A/N:** Wow...It takes me a long time to write this stuff. So much deleting and moving stuff around...Well anyway, here we are and I hope you enjoyed it!

The next chapter will probably be more moments from First Year. What do you think of Sirius? How will Sirius and Christopher's relationship develop? Any predictions for the future?

Thanks for reading and reviewing and all the great support, and please review!


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: "Oranges"**

 _I regret my decisions sorely._

Several weeks into the first term, and the leaves were falling, and probably for like the fourth time since he'd gotten here, Christopher was sitting at the Gryffindor Table for breakfast.

Or, well, what they called breakfast.

He sat there with a fork in his hand poking at whatever was on his plate. And James was gossiping endlessly, and Sirius would snicker or offer a snarky comment. Sometimes they would whisper something to each other and burst into a fit of giggles. Christopher thought it was all very tedious.

"Don't you think so?" James asked all of a sudden.

Christopher didn't answer. He still couldn't believe he had been dragged out of bed, and not even by James, the hyper-puppy. The first few times, James was the one insisting and Sirius was the one trying to walk away. Now, it was the opposite. James, Christopher realized, was willing to beg Christopher, but would eventually leave him be when Christopher _truly_ wanted to be left alone.

Sirius, on the other hand, was the exact opposite. He didn't like to beg and apparently, Christopher's "leave me the fuck alone" meant HIHIHILETMEBOTHERYOU to him. Christopher was starting to think that Sirius was doing it on purpose to annoy him.

Indeed, Sirius was the one that manually dragged Christopher by his socked foot out of bed today. Apparently, Sirius didn't like being ignored. Christopher sighed.

 _Fucking brat..._

"Chris!" James whined.

" _What_ ," Christopher said strenuously, mid poke in the chicken-thing. Gross. He felt sick. He kept looking around, kind of feeling like all the people in the tables were getting closer, but knowing they weren't. But checking. To be sure.

"You're not listening!" James pouted. "Chrissssss!" he whined. "We were talking about Lupin."

Christopher paused. Oh right. He had totally forgotten.

 _Lupin..._ Just thinking about it made his head pound more. _Ugh_. The whole thing was a headache. Dumb kids and dumber kids and eleven-year-old drama. See, Christopher was (supposed to be…) the adult in the situation. He felt like a guidance counselor forced to listen to kids ramble about their ridiculous, exaggerated problems, except he wasn't a guidance counselor. And anyway, he wouldn't be good at it (being mentally unstable), and well, he didn't even want to try anyway (being goddamn fucking tired and lazy).

 _I just want to go back to bed._

Christopher sighed. The good thing to do would be to apologize to Lupin and make the poor kid feel welcome. The bad thing to do would be to go along with James' "Lupin's a Loser" campaign and ostracize him.

Of course, it was a waste of time to even think on it, because in reality, Christopher knew he would do neither the good thing nor the bad thing, but The Christopher Thing. And The Christopher Thing would be the most lazy thing, which would be to shrug, say "Oh well."

A.k.a Nothing.

He was brought back to the present when he saw a blurry arm in front of his face. He flinched; then settled when he saw it was just Sirius stealing a piece of chicken off his plate. And talking with his mouth open.

"You weren't eating it, mate," Sirius said, shrugging.

Christopher said nothing, only pushed his plate towards Sirius. Sirius looked at him questioningly, eyes narrowing slightly, then attacked the food.

"Why do we have to have him in our dorm too?" James burst out suddenly. He pouted.

Christopher sighed. "Why do you dislike him so much anyway," Christopher drawled. He was sure his knuckles were going to leave a red mark on his cheek, he was leaning his head so heavily on his hand.

"Oh wait, you don't know!" James said loudly, spraying food everywhere. "Sorry," he said offhandedly. "I saw him on the train before! That Lupin kid! Me and Sirius ran into him," he said to Christopher, leaning forward on the table. "You know how me and Sirius found your compartment and it was like destiny-like, we saw each other and we just knew it was meant to be, so we declared our indefinite vows of fidelity to each other?"

Christopher choked on the slime he was putting in his mouth. " _What_ ," he deadpanned after chugging water that Sirius had so nicely poured for him. On a side note, he was impressed with the boy's vocabulary. _Pureblood upbringing, most likely._

"I don't remember that," Sirius said dryly to James.

"So anyway," James said, ignoring them. His eyes got really wide and he said, "before that, Sirius and I were exploring the train and we ran into him, and I said something funny-you mates know how funny I am, right? Well, anyway, it was a wicked funny joke, but he didn't laugh at all, like _at all_! Can you believe that? And besides he wears weird clothes, and he reads all day and-"

James stopped when he realized Sirius and Christopher were both looking at him like he had three heads and an antler. "What?"

"Uh…" Christopher turned his head slowly, looking at him from the side of his eye.

"Are you _sure_ you aren't talking about him," Sirius said, nudging his head towards Christopher.

"...Yeah...that," Christopher said, inclined to agree.

"No! Chris is different! Chris is our mate!" James whined. "And besides, why couldn't we just pick who we get in our dorms?" James went on complaining. "And why can't Lupin just be moved somewhere else? Who made that decision?" James demanded, pouting.

The table jolted.

James stopped talking, and realized the Gryffindor table had gone dead silent, and everyone had been listening to James talk. All eyes flew to the scruffy, dirty blond boy that had stood up so violently that all the dishes on the table shook. Without saying anything, the boy, Remus Lupin, kept his head down, and practically ran out of the Great Hall.

As soon as he left, people started to talk again. Christopher drew his eyes away from the door, and poked at the chicken Sirius had left behind on the plate.

"I didn't do anything wrong," James said stubbornly, crossing his arms against his chest.

"No one said anything," Sirius said through a mouthful of a pastry. He reached for another, but couldn't reach across the table. Sirius looked at Christopher with pleading eyes, and Christopher rolled his eyes, picked up the chocolate croissant, and idly, with his head still resting on his hand, tore it into pieces and fed them into Sirius' open mouth.

 _Definitely a dog_ , Christopher thought to himself. It was slightly endearing. He probably should not have been imagining Sirius as his puppy, but Christopher missed having a pet. "Good boy," Christopher said contentedly, with an oddly reminiscent smile, watching Sirius chew.

Sirius looked at him a little quizzically, but grinned, apparently in the mood to play along for once.

"I don't feel bad at all," James proceeded to say loudly, mostly to himself. He sat there, frowning heavily for a long while. Then he turned in his seat and opened his mouth.

"What," Christopher said after a long time.

"Feed me too," James tried to say, except his mouth was open and his tongue was dry so it was incomprehensible. Christopher looked at him with That Look, and James shut his mouth and pouted for the rest of the meal.

. . .

It was dark outside, and the dormitory was heavy with silence. Remus had finished his homework hours ago, and crawled quietly under the sheets of his bed, heavy with sleep. The moon had finished yesterday, and he was exhausted, but felt lighter, as though he'd lost ten pounds. This was how he usually felt a few days after the moon, content and sleepy, a little fuzzy on the inside, and relieved that he would have several more weeks before the next bout.

The sound of the shower pouring down on the tile stopped. The scent of lemon soap wafted out as the bathroom door opened. Steam poured out as Christopher Pettigrew, Remus's mysterious and snarky roommate, ducked out of the bathroom.

Christopher rubbed a white towel over his hair as he padded softly across the floor. Remus watched him as he sat down on the floor with his back against his bed, his brown hair damp from the shower, torso skinny beneath his rumpled clothes, towel over his shoulders.

Remus thought it a little odd-Christopher seemed to have very few clothes, and no real pajamas. Christopher appeared to have two sets of second-hand school uniform, and then a pair of shorts, holey socks, and an old, baggy sweatshirt. Remus was pretty sure Christopher didn't even bring a shirt with him to Hogwarts. Christopher lounged around in those shorts and sweatshirt all afternoon, every day, even on the weekends.

Remus wondered exactly how poor Christopher's family was, and thought if they were that poor Christopher couldn't even afford clothes, then how come Christopher seemed so well-educated and how come Christopher didn't even seem to mind? Remus could never tell if Christopher just didn't care to wear other clothes, of it was really because he was dirt poor. Because Christopher was never embarrassed, or shameful, as many other poverty-ridden kids were...including Remus, to a point.

Remus wasn't _poor_ , but his family was also in no way as rich as the Potters and Blacks were, and even though his family was middle-class, Remus felt ashamed sometimes. But Christopher could lounge in his run-down clothes and worn sneakers, and toss things haphazardly in his taped-up suitcase, and it just somehow looked cool, intentional, like Christopher was meaning to have it that way.

As time passed, it occurred to Remus that it was dead silent in the room with James and Sirius gone.

The only sound was that of Remus moving and shifting in his bed, and Christopher breathing softly, running the towel through his hair, and the slop of the wet towel against his shoulders.

Remus Lupin watched, hating himself more and more. "You make a good trio," Remus said quietly, very quietly, hair falling in front of his face.

"What?" Christopher exhaled softly, and paused in his rubbing of the towel. He lifted his eyes toward Remus without lifting his head. "Who?"

Remus wondered if Christopher was trying to make Remus say it. Remus thought that if he did, he might cry, or choke up, or something stupid like that. Remus was bad at talking, and his eyes were already sort of burning. He kept thinking about all the times they had been laughing and talking and becoming deeper friends together, while Remus was lying there in his bed, all alone, just like the loser James Potter always said he was.

James was right, Remus thought to himself and clutched the pillow tighter. His throat felt heavy. He was never going to have friends and no one would ever like him. And he shouldn't even be here.

"You know," Christopher drawled. "This isn't Naruto or anything. James calls us a ninja trio or pirate crew or whatever, but we've known each other for what, five days?" Christopher shrugged. "No one is that close," he said.

Remus begged to differ. What Christopher called "five days" was more like a month into the term, practically, and it seemed everyone had formed cliques on the very first day. Actually, before the first day. On the train for Hogwarts, or even before that.

"We're like eleven," Christopher said, doing some kind of exercise, like a plank or something. "Who the heck is thinking about making deep soul bonds at age eleven. This is preteen stage, when everyone is a jerk and watches too much Hannah Montana."

"But...aren't you guy's friends?" Remus asked in a tiny voice.

"James calls everyone his best mate," Christopher said.

And Remus kind of hated him a little, because it seemed like for Christopher, everything was so easy. Everything just came to him, just floated right by him on a river. Everything was so natural, so easy, so carefree for his chestnut-haired roommate, and even more, the boy would watch it float right by, lazing around and not even reaching out to take it. Everything Remus would treasure so much- interacting with James and Sirius, becoming friends with someone- Christopher would brush off, like it was all extra weight on his shoulder, and then yawn along with it.

"Really," Remus said, kind of tightly. "Does he really." Because Remus thought James was actually very exclusive, very bossy, and anyone he did not immediately like was immediately ostracized. James did _not_ call everyone his best mate—in fact, despite that a lot of people liked James, _James_ only really liked Sirius and Christopher, and he was very possessive of his "best mates" as well.

"Oh," Christopher said. "Unless he doesn't like you."

"I don't think he likes me," Remus said. James particularly did not like Remus.

"He doesn't," Christopher said very earnestly, very blasé.

 _Ow_ , Remus winced.

There was a long silence. Remus was starting to relax, a little. Christopher was not as scary, Remus realized, as most other people. Despite that one time Christopher had burst with apparent rage, that had never happened again, and Remus had stopped tip-toeing around him for the most part. Christopher never brought anything up again, and Remus thought to himself that Christopher must not know anything, then, about his...problem. Because surely, if he knew, Christopher would have run screaming and Remus would be expelled and dead.

Yes, Christopher might not like Remus, but Remus thought being able to talk a little with Christopher Pettigrew was maybe kind of nice.

Most other people, including Remus' parents, always told him to talk more and seemed to expect Remus to be good at conversing, and say all the right things at all the right moments. There was a pressure to say things Remus didn't know to say, and Remus found it stressful.

On the other hand, Christopher was hard to understand, but having a conversation with him wasn't so very stressful. Christopher was, if anything, the most awkward conversationalist Remus had ever encountered, and he didn't even seem to care. It kind of relaxed Remus, because that meant Remus could also be awkward, and Christopher would not care.

It was bad, maybe, but maybe that Christopher didn't care about anything, not even Remus himself probably, made it easier for Remus to relax around him.

"Anyway, you could always try the Hugglepuffs," Christopher said.

Remus almost snorted. "The what?"

"For friends, you know," he said. Christopher was doing one armed pushups now, and switched to the other hand. "Or you could try dying your hair red," Christopher mused. "I've heard Potter men like redheads."

Remus frowned and wondered if Christopher was counting himself as a redhead. Christopher was mostly brown-haired but it was chestnut really, so it was a little red. He really hoped Christopher was not referring to that redhead girl Lily Evans, because if so, Christopher was delusional. James Potter despised Lily Evans even more than he disliked Remus, and that was pretty impressive.

 _If anything,_ you're _the one who likes redheads,_ Remus thought wryly, thinking of how Christopher always hung around Lily Evans.

"Personally," Christopher spoke up again, surprising Remus, "I would give it time. James is thick-headed but animalistic. He acts on instinct and he really didn't like you or whatever, but I'm sure he can get over it," he said. "I mean you guys have seven years to get over shit. But if you're that desperate, there's always the girls," Christopher threw out airily. "They're pretty friendly."

 _To you,_ Remus thought again, wanting to be bitter, but feeling a little sorry for the girls, because the object of their affections was hopelessly oblivious. Or at least, completely uninterested.

"Or you can eat chocolate," Christopher said. "I've heard that works wonders. Endorphins. Good shit." He said all of this like Remus probably wasn't listening, like he was talking to the air or something.

But he _was_ saying things. Christopher was talking, to him, Remus Lupin, and even if Christopher was kind of talking to the air and the ceiling, Remus felt a little warmer. It was the first time since he got to Hogwarts that he had had a real conversation with anyone. Remus couldn't help but watch the chestnut-haired boy curiously from his bed.

"Um," Remus said after a long while. "Christopher…?"

Christopher was doing sit ups now. "Ja?"

"Where...where are they?" Remus asked, lying flat on his bed. It was still early, not time to sleep yet.

Christopher didn't answer, and Remus closed his eyes, feeling a hollowness in his chest.

"...Detention, maybe," came the answer, more than five minutes later.

Remus looked over. Here, in the softness of the dorm, Christopher looked like an ordinary boy, with his brown hair and pale skin, like any other English boy. Christopher spread his legs on the floor, revealing pale skinny ankles and started stretching.

"You'll be fine," Christopher said, softly.

Remus laid in bed, and kind of wanted to believe him, but not really able to.

"And there's chocolate under Sirius' bed."

Remus laughed.

"See?" Christopher said, and Remus looked to see that Christopher was standing now, with that towel around his neck, and grinning a little crookedly. Green eyes dancing. "You laughed. Chocolate makes everything better." And flicked a couple chocolate frogs across the room onto Remus's bed.

"Thanks," Remus said softly, sitting up in bed as he unwrapped one tenderly.

"I would tell you to thank Sirius, but then he'd wonder how you got his chocolate," Christopher said as he slipped into his bed. "Night. Sweet chocolate, sweet dreams," he said.

It was such a nice thing to say, to do, that Remus almost blushed. Maybe he did blush- okay, he probably did. His cheeks felt very hot. Remus chewed the chocolate slowly, and settled into his bed.

Remus felt a little naughty, eating what was apparently stolen goods, but he also felt lightheaded with happiness. Okay, so maybe it wasn't much, but it was something.

It'll be okay, he told himself.

It'll be okay.

Christopher closed the curtains of his bed, and thought curiously that Remus's magic was behaving itself today. He could feel Remus, across the room, his magic a soft yellow ball that curled up around Remus like a hedgehog-the very opposite of what it had felt like to him that day he'd come back to the room, and Remus's magic had been all wolfy and ill and invasive.

Interesting, he thought, shifting in the bed. Must be because the moon cycle was over, and the wolf was tired, he guessed. Still, if Christopher was going to be rooming with the kid, he was going to have to get used to the wolf's magic.

"Ay dios mio," he exhaled, crushing his face into his pillow.

. . .

Although Christopher tended not to do anything in class (because he was tired and distracted and he didn't like the way other people's magic rubbed against his, like he could feel it like bare skin against bare skin) he did do magic on his own. Sometimes, Christopher would go outside by the back side of the greenhouse, sit down in the shade of the tree and the stones of Hogwarts behind his back, and practice.

At night, and once it started to get colder, he would go to the library, and weave through the stacks until he was in the back parts, the little niches and crannies and smaller rooms that no one ever entered or thought to go in. There was dust in the corners and books unshelved, and chairs that were old, probably removed from the main area after overuse and stored here for years. But the back of the library was warm and the only light was from the windows streaming through, and there was no one else there. Not even Madame Pince came to check in these areas, busy as she was with tidying the actively open and used stacks, monitoring the study areas, and guarding the Forbidden Books.

After a while, he would have to stop reading and rub his eyes a lot. He realized his eyes hurt, and it was hard to focus on the words. He hadn't had much chance to read at "home" in this life, but he recognized by now from his past sixty-nine lives, that this was his astigmatism manifesting in his left eye. Well, that, and he wasn't sleeping.

One of those was fixable.

By the end of the second week, Christopher had created himself a new pair of reading glasses. He might have stolen a glass from the Great Hall to use as material. He may also have used his knowledge as an eye doctor from a previous life.

In an earlier life, Christopher had been Leon Danielsson, golden boy, pride of his parents, and he was always doted on by his older brother Joel Danielsson, who liked to ruffle Leon's hair and tease Leon about being a playboy. Leon was a lackadaisical teenage boy, sixteen years old, skipping school, and eventually dropping out to score an apprenticeship under Sweden's top optometrist. He started to work in the optometrist's office in a high-end shopping mall, alit with Christmas lights and gold decorations.

And if Leon shot up heroin behind everyone's back- Well. No one needed to know that.

Leon was almost seventeen years old, a slender boy with dyed blonde hair, silver mittens, and a cute Dachshund. And Leon was just on a walk with his dog and his older brother Joel. He was enjoying a free sample of molten chocolate balls, and had taken off his mittens to lick his fingers. Joel teased him about doing that for his girlfriends-licking his fingers, that is.

And then they stopped and were talking and grinning at the elderly lady at the street stall. Joel picked up a bread roll, dropped some coins, patted Leon on the head, laughing about something, and turned and started to walk away, carrying their Dachshund in his arms. Leon was about to follow, but saw a coin drop in the snow, and stooped down to pick it up for the old lady.

A truck barreled through the Christmas market, missing Joel, and slammed into Leon, killing him instantly.

Poor Joel. Joel was probably traumatized for the rest of his life, great older brother that he was. At least their dog lived.

In any case, before he'd been roadkill, he'd studied eyeballs and eyeglasses pretty extensively, and thus, once Christopher had some glass to play with and a bunch of books about Transfiguration and precision and magical control exercises, he was meditating, and then he was practicing. He was warping glass, and then he was making himself some glasses.

They weren't the best glasses, but they worked. Sort of.

Once he had transfigured a pair of glasses, he spent more and more time buried in books. He lived in the library, trailing fingers along the spines of aged books. He would sit in the window sill, curl up in the small space, forehead resting against the hard glass, and the words would float through him like clouds on a ceaseless sky. He was so still and quiet in the hidden section of the library, the librarian often turned off the lights and shut the doors- unaware of the last student's lazy eyes blinking heavily in the haze of white moonlight.

Sometimes he spent nights in the library, and Mrs. Norris, the angry cat, came to snore on his lap, and his eyelids would sag, and the words blurred. But no matter how blurred and messy his mind got, it was never enough to smear the inky splurge of past nightmares into oblivion.

He thought that Dumbledore probably knew there was a student in his library past curfew, just as Dumbledore always knew everything. He also thought that the old geezer probably didn't give a fuck, because well, he wasn't causing any problems, and also, Pettigrew wasn't Harry Potter.

And quite frankly, no one, not the Marauders, not Dumbledore, not "Ma and Pa" and not a single person in the administration had given a shit about the original Peter Pettigrew, or else, Christopher Pettigrew was pretty sure, thumbing the spine of an old book, there was no way the boy would have survived seven years of blatant poverty and abuse under the radar, no matter how sneaky the rat was.

And in these nights of cold and quiet and nightmares hedging at the corners of his vision, he missed people like Joel. He missed some of his warmer lives, lives where he had people that instinctively cared about him, because he was their son, or their brother, or their nephew or something like that. And on bad nights, sometimes he even missed lives where he had _absolutely_ nothing, because at least in those lives he had never been able to think, it was always just fast and blurs and pains. Christopher exhaled, slowly.

Mrs. Norris rubbed against Christopher's socked feet. Soft fur rolled between his toes, and her warm head nuzzled against the arch of his foot. "Thank you," he whispered and his voice was raspy in the silent library. Mrs. Norris settled, curled up on top of his feet, an instant foot warmer that somehow, almost made a thickening in his throat, a wetness behind his eyes.

He put his head down on his knees. Christopher buried himself inside the sweatshirt. He knew he was skinny as hell, and he felt bony and hollow and cold, so pulled his knees up inside the sweatshirt, pulling his arms inside so the sleeves flapped emptily to his sides, and curled up in the window sill, feeling the cold of the glass soothe phantom bruises down his back and aches along his spine.

. . .

Lily Evans and Christopher Pettigrew were a strange pair.

Lily was a curious kid, Christopher came to realize. He had always assumed, somehow, that Lily Evans was similar to Hermione Granger's portrayal in the books. However, Christopher's Lily was extraordinarily…unique.

Lily kind of ran around like Harry Potter did-oblivious. Lily forgot things all over the place, dropped her socks, dropped her quills, even left her textbooks behind in the bathroom. Lily hummed when she walked through the hallways, and ate like a pig during meals, and sometimes talked so excitedly with hand motions that she hit people (Chris) in the face and walked into walls.

Maybe, this was good- because it made Christopher have to be more aware. Usually, he was the one wandering off into space. But when he was with Lily, he would have to throw his arm around her shoulder, or kind of guide her around with his hand on her back. Not trying to be touchy or anything, but otherwise she really would walk into a wall. Lily was all in or all out; if she was talking, she wasn't looking, if she was looking she wasn't talking.

Indeed, whenever she stared, she stared. And it was so obvious she was staring, it was almost hysterical.

Lily was also very, very smart. And Lily hated, hated, hated History. She was very bad at it, and found it extremely boring, and Christopher kind of liked that she hated it, because it meant they could pass notes to each other. And Lily was a funny note passer- she made weird faces when she read his notes, and she said the funniest things without even trying to be funny.

She was so straightforward in her writing that she always received poor essay grades. It was clear to Christopher that Lily was extremely mathematical.

The second he'd realized this, he might have, might have, dug around in the Hogwarts Library bookshelves until he found an old, beat up mathematics textbook, filed as a reference for muggle studies. And he might have started to teaching her algebra, and geometry.

("Mathematics is so elegant!" Lily had looked at him with wide puppy eyes and hugged the book with tears in her eyes.)

Christopher kind of liked to watch Lily when she was figuring something out. She would just sit there and think very hard, and her tongue would stick out of the corner of her mouth. It was interesting to him, because Lily could do all sorts of things in her head; she was good at visualizing 3D shapes and mapping things out in her head. She could do complex calculations and all sorts of interesting things.

Lily was going to be very good at Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, and probably Curse Breaking too, which, contrary to popular belief, Christopher realized had a lot more to do with weird magical algorithms and logic skills than it had to do with pure, raw magical power.

He wondered, if they were in the muggle world, and a little further ahead in technology, if Lily would have been interested in robotics, or engineering. She would probably be very good at it, he thought.

Christopher let Lily lead him around by the arm, let her huffingly scold him about not doing his work. They went outside sometimes, and Lily wanted to climb trees, and so they ended up climbing trees. Anything Lily wanted, Christopher would do. And everyone who noticed, noticed that unlike the normal Christopher who was blank-faced and bored, Lily's Christopher would do anything she wanted with this contented smile and looking so soft and nice and sweet.

(This infuriated James to no end.)

These were the most favorite parts of his days.

And, on warm Sunday nights in the Gryffindor common room, Christopher liked to curl up on the couch next to Lily. The fire would crackle, and he would draw his hands inside his sweatshirt, and they would sit there, and Lily liked to put her feet on top of his. And he liked this because her socks were better than his, and made his feet warm.

They would sit there, no books, no homework, no nothing except the two of them on the couch. Lily would just talk about her week, and small things about her family at home, and he would ask her little things, like what her favorite color was, and why. He liked to listen to her a lot, and it kind of made him feel better, listening to her be so happy.

Lily liked to ask questions too, usually at the end of the night, when it was starting to get dark outside. By then, her magic had seeped into his tense shoulders and smoothed everything out into soft wavy nothingness, and he would be sleepy and she would be sleepy too, and it was a little like they were drunk, so he would answer anything that she asked.

And sometimes Lily asked him random things like, if he thought Santa was real, and what he thought about TV shows, and those were easy for him to answer. But sometimes Lily asked him heavy things, like what he thought about magic, and if magic was so dangerous and powerful, were they bad for being magical, like Satan and stuff?

And so he told her heavy things, like that he thought magic was a strange and weird thing, and people could do strange and horrible things with it. But even without magic, people would still find weird and horrible ways to hurt and heal and judge each other-so really, that wasn't magic being shitty and pissy and judgy, that was just humanity. And people being people.

And sometimes Lily just wanted advice.

"I really don't think they like me," Lily said about the girls in her dorm.

"Do you want them to be your friends?" Christopher asked.

Lily thought hard. "I like friends," she said finally.

"Well," Christopher said, shifting slightly so he could wiggle his feet. "You can wait for them to like you, or you can try to make them like you."

"That sounds hard," Lily said sadly. "I'm not very good at planning. I'm not very good at waiting either."

Christopher smiled a little. "Hey," he said, nudging her arm. "If you want to be friends with them, just go for it."

Lily just looked at him waiting for him to say something more.

Christopher stared back.

Lily drooped. "I don't get it," she said, discouraged.

Christopher snorted. "Well I was trying to be idealistic and encouraging, but apparently not," he said. "So instead I'll tell you that one of the easiest ways of manipulate people is the old cliché, flattery. Flattery can get you everywhere and anywhere, Lily," Christopher said. "All it is, is a couple things like 'I like your scarf' or a 'Wow, you have a great smile', and," he continued carelessly, "you're cute too, so just do your puppy eye thing-"

Lily was looking at him wide eyes.

"-yeah, like that," he said, warily, "and you'll be peachy keen."

"That sounds like flirting!" Lily said, kind of excitedly, eyes lighting up.

"It's like…" Christopher sighed. "Yeah. Yeah. It's like flirting. Seriously, just think about it. Say if you have a crush on someone, what do you do? You compliment them, right, and then maybe they'll come to like you. Well, it's the same with friendships. If you compliment people enough-granted, this only works if they don't have some weird prejudice or irrational hatred for you- then usually they'll come round pretty quickly." He tapped his head. "People are egotistical."

"I like your hair," Lily said grinning at Christopher.

Christopher looked at her flatly, and pushed her face away. "Okay, not on me, no thank you, thanks."

Lily snickered. Then she quieted down, and looked rather thoughtful.

"You know my other friend, Sev," Lily said slowly, looking at Christopher with wide and sad green eyes. "He wanted to be in Slytherin, so I said I also wanted to be in Slytherin, but actually I wanted to be in Hufflepuff because they sound fluffy," Lily said it very mournfully, as though it were a deep, dark confession. She frowned. "Hm…."

Christopher waited.

Lily frowned deeper. "Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm….."

"What," Christopher said.

Lily said finally, "Chris?"

"Yeah."

She looked dead into his eyes. "Do you think oranges are called orange because they are orange? Or is the color orange called orange because oranges are orange?"

Chris started to laugh into his sleeve.

"What?" Lily blinked innocently.

He finally stopped laughing and exhaled to calm himself. "Do I look like I have all the answers to the world?" Chris said lazily, head falling back on the couch, raising an eyebrow.

Lily looked at him. "Sometimes," she said, sort of guiltily, like she knew she wasn't supposed to say that, but said it anyway because that was how Lily was.

Christopher snorted in amusement. "Okay, well, I don't," he said, hand falling on her head. She looked at him still kind of guiltily, and he looked at her quizzically. "What?"

"I wish that I had more answers for you," Lily said sadly. "One day, you're going to ask me for advice, and I'm going to be able to help you like you always help me," Lily said, looking him right in the eye.

Christopher looked at her curiously. "Okay," he said. "Please, one day, tell me which came first, the orange or the color."

Lily Evans was very odd, and a little strange, but when she nodded and told him "I will", he had a strange idea that Lily Evans, if she didn't die so young, was going to flip the world on its head and hold everyone at wand point, just to find out which came first, the oranges or the color orange.

"I _like_ you," Christopher said, with a grin.

There was a strange choking noise from behind them, and Christopher was unsurprised to see James and Sirius roll down the steps of the stairs and crash into a pile.

"No!" James yelled even as he was coughing and Sirius was cursing. "No! Chris! The contract! The vows! No girls!"

Lily looked at him, blinked, and smiled at them evilly. "You know, I know the perfect spell to make you pee yourself all over the floor right now," and her wand was pointed right at them.

James and Sirius froze.

And apparently, Christopher thought to himself later that night, as James and Sirius whispered furiously in their beds about scary girls and frightening beasts and demonic sirens, Lily Evans was also a secret sadist.

. . .

For Christopher, it was largely the same in every life. There were good days, when he could function and eat and make jokes. There were neutral days, when he could sit through things and shrug and look out the window. Then here were bad days, when he couldn't even get out of bed because there was no point to it and he would just end up getting back in it and he couldn't sleep anyway and nothing else was worth saying or doing anyway, so he would stare at the ceiling.

Unfortunately, it was verging on a bad day for Christopher when McGonagall thought it prudent to approach her Problem Student. Indeed, McGonagall thought him a Problem student, though whether he was more trouble, or troubled, she had yet to decipher. There was always one of them in every year, but she had never had one quite as peculiar as Christopher Pettigrew.

It wasn't that he was-slow, or incapable. It was that…well. It was several weeks into the term, and the first-year had slept through half of McGonagall's classes, and spaced out in the ones he was actually (half) awake for. He simply did not come to a large portion of the classes as well. His seat was ritually left empty, next to one Mr. Potter and one Mr. Black. The Potter heir would glare horrifically at anyone who dared approach the seat.

Additionally, Mr. Pettigrew tended not to hand in assignments, appeared to forget that he had them, or leave them in the dorm, or plainly lose them ("I might have used that as a bookmark at some point yesterday," Christopher said slowly, scratching his head, one time she had asked him where his homework was. "Huh. Maybe Mrs. Norris ate it," he mused. Sadly enough, the boy seemed to care so little about everything that she was fairly certain the boy was telling the truth.)

McGonagall had watched the boy out of the corner of her eye. He wrote his name as Christopher on papers, never Peter, and only sometimes Pettigrew, and other times he just didn't touch the paper or the quill at all. Just stared at it. Sometimes, he dated his assignments with the strangest dates she had ever seen.

She had given him time to adjust, time to get into routine. Sometimes, there were first-years that simply needed to be given time, and she would rather not single out a student in such a delicate transitioning period. But now it was further into the term, and if anything, he only seemed to get more and more lax.

It was long past the time for a confrontation.

McGonagall sighed heavily. Christopher, hands in drooping pockets, settled back leaning his weight on the desk, crossing one sneakered foot over the other. The shoelaces on the left were frayed and coming undone, and he watched them waggle as he wiggled his foot.

McGonagall cleared her throat.

"Mr. Pettigrew," McGonagall said heavily.

"Christopher," Christopher drawled. He rubbed the side of his head.

McGonagall sighed again. "Mr. Christopher."

No response.

"Mr. Christopher, it is considered proper behavior to look your professor in the eye when they address you," she said.

Christopher's foot stilled. Slowly, his eyes dragged up. Something in Mcgonagall gulped as his eyes, like bottomless pits, bore into her. He didn't say anything though. The silence stretched, seemed to stretch through his abyss eyes, the darkness seeping through more and more, tearing into her.

This was odd, even for an odd boy like Christopher Pettigrew. She had never seen him so blatantly unresponsive-not, so...hollow, yet heavy. It left a pit of uncertainty in McGonagall's stomach.

"Mr. Christopher," McGonagall said, "Are you bored in my class?"

He looked to the side, the window. He seemed to sense that his eyes made her discomforted.

McGonagall sighed. "Are you getting enough sleep at night?" She eyed the dark bags marring the undersides of his eyes. They looked tender and aching, nursing the hollow holes for eyes.

"Do you not like it at Hogwarts?" McGonagall found herself asking what she never thought she would have to ask. Of course everyone loved it at Hogwarts. She could see it in the eyes of the children, all of them, from the most popular to the bullied, the rich to poor, pureblood, muggleborn- every single student loved Hogwarts. But she could not see it in the boy before her.

She could not see anything, nothing but nothing, in the peculiar boy.

"It is very different, perhaps, from living at home," McGonagall elaborated. "The adjustment may be difficult, but I would like to assure you that-"

"The same," he said.

"Excuse me?"

He was watching the clouds. "Everywhere is the same. Here...there." He moved his pointer finger lazily, as though there was a map in front of him. "You know...everywhere." The sun was coming in through the window, and he ducked his head, and there was this discontented pressing of his lips together, and McGonagall felt that in that moment the child looked very...tired?

"Mr. Pettigrew, are you feeling ill?" McGonagall said, a frown pulling her brows together. "If you are experiencing difficulties achieving a proper amount of rest, perhaps an appointment with Madame Pomfrey would be most advisable…"

There was quite a long silence. McGonagall almost thought the boy would never speak, and was about to open her mouth, when finally, he shifted, and turned to face her.

"...I've stayed awake too long," he said, eyes empty and full and his pupils like an abyss. "That's all," he said, softly, into his shoulder, defeated.

She was quiet, then sighed and shook her head. She would never understand eleven-year-old children. A silence stretched through the classroom. It did not seem to bother Christopher Pettigrew; the boy was now looking at the ground and his hands were in his pockets and he looked horribly sullen for an eleven-year-old boy. He was very skinny and the circles under his eyes were dark, and she as his Professor and Head of House was not afraid to admit to herself that his heaviness concerned her, the weight of his gaze haunted her.

"I will have to give you a poor participation grade at the very least," she heard herself say. "Please do your homework and try to participate in class."

He didn't say anything, and didn't move.

"Detention tonight," McGonagall said, resisting a sigh. She watched him turn and leave the room, looking like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

Perhaps, she thought, a talk with the Headmaster was needed.

. . .

A/N: Sorry I haven't replied to reviews! College is killing me, but know that everyone's reviews have been AWESOME. I really really appreciate everyone's feedback, and it really helps me think of stuff to write and get motivated to actually write it. And some of your reviews are just really funny :)

So...how about poor Remus? Everyone's been so sad for him! Don't worry, he won't be sad and lonely forever. Thoughts on the characters, anyone?

Happy new year! Thanks for reading and supporting and reviewing :)


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Machiavellian Prince

One morning Remus Lupin woke up to see his blankets in his blurred vision. He blinked. Rubbed his eyes. Indeed, there was a lump in front of him, hidden under his blankets. The lump was breathing, slowly.

He laid stiff still. "U-uh."

"Hi," said Christopher, who rolled onto his side and propped his head up on his elbow.

"W-why," Remus said.

Christopher yawned. He curled up and turned away from Remus, stole all the blankets back from Remus and pulled them over his head. "Good night," he said.

"Wait but it's-" Remus looked at the clock in a panic. "Class-" He panicked and fretted. He clutched his hair. He didn't know why Christopher was in his bed and he didn't know why Christopher was not getting out of his bed and what if they were late for classes and didn't they have to go to class-

"もう。。。やめてよー," Christopher grumbled, curling up further. "うるせえな。。。"

Remus held his breath. He stared with wide eyes and his heartbeat thumped.

"Dios mio…もう。。。何してんだよーくそ。。。tranquilo! tranquilo...早く。。。"Christopher groaned and Remus watched the caterpillar of blankets shift around. "You were so fluffy before..." Christopher whined, burrowing into the blankets.

Remus actually felt sorry, sorry because Christopher's whinny was quite a sad sounding thing, and also sorry because he really didn't understand the reason for it, or anything, in the first place.

Remus held stick still, held his breath. It was silent.

"I can feel that you know," Christopher said flatly, turning over and staring Remus right in the eye.

Remus stared completely baffled. He hadn't even done anything!

"What?" He blinked. "Wait! Class you have to-we have to-clas-" he reached out, unsure whether to touch or not-

"God, can a person sleep anywhere without being bothered," Christopher grumbled, swung out of bed, grabbed a pillow and stalked off. Remus peeked out of the curtain.

James stood in his pajamas, one foot hanging out, gaping.

Christopher stumbled right past a frozen James. He grabbed all the blankets off of his own bed and promptly stuffed himself and his blankets and his pillows under his bed.

Then he crawled underneath, curled up in the corner and stayed there balled up in the tiniest ball Remus had ever seen a person roll himself into.

"Why does he sleep with you!" James yelled all of a sudden.

"I-I don't know," Remus squeaked.

"YOUU…" James hopped forwards threateningly- tripped over his pajama pants. "GAH!" Remus felt his eyes bug open.

"What is happening," Sirius mumbled as he brushed his teeth and foam came out.

"Chrisssss," James whined, running around the dorm and sticking his head under Christopher's bed. "Chrisss."

Remus felt that James probably was annoying Christopher. He felt like Christopher was a cat trying to sleep unbothered in random places. And that right now James was the annoying child trying to pet the cat.

"Merlin," Sirius grumbled, shook his head and shuffled back into the bathroom.

.

.

.

"Sleep with me," James demanded.

A passing seventh year student choked on her spit, shot the group of first-year boys a strange look, and walked away coughing.

"No," Christopher said flatly.

"Why," James pouted. "Sleep with meeee."

Christopher sighed.

"Why are you sleeping with the loser," James complained.

Christopher put his head down on the desk. He couldn't explain it actually, or more like he could, but it would sound weird. It appeared that closer to the moon Remus's magic was bristly and provocative, but further from the moon, it became normal, and when Remus was sound asleep, it actually became the softest and fluffiest cloud of fluff, like a bunny tail. But, Christopher thought moodily, as soon as Remus woke up, Christopher could feel Remus's anxiety making spikes all over the ball of fur, making it once again impossible to sleep.

"Is your bed uncomfy? Sleep with me instead," James said. "We're mates right? So sleep with me! Oh. Oh, or, sleep with Sirius. Sleep with me and Sirius!"

"Morning," Lily said as she sat down on the opposite side of Christopher. James, on Christopher's left, started to growl.

Christopher instantly perked up. "Hey, there," he said, and rested his head on his elbow, turning his head away from James. Lily sent James a nasty look, then pulled out a giant stack of books, and papers, and started to chatter about things James didn't understand at all.

Something to do with numbers and something like arithmancy but not arithmancy and equations and Christopher seemed to understand it, but all of it made James' head hurt, so he turned to Sirius who was snoring on the table and poked him until Sirius woke up and punched James in the face, resulting in James spending the day in the hospital wing feeling sorry for himself.

"What happened, poor dear," Madame Pomfrey said.

"He wouldn't sleep with me," James pouted.

Pomfrey gaped.

"He slept with a loser instead," James huffed. "I saw it with my own eyes. Can you believe that."

Pomfrey gasped, long and slow.

And that is how James Potter became the youngest student in the history of Hogwarts to receive a full speech about "Wands" and "Dueling" from an appalled and shocked Madame Pomfrey.

"She just kept telling me that I was too young to be doing that sort of stuff," James complained in the dorm that day. "She told me I was young so I ought to keep my wand to myself. Can you believe that? I told her she's wrong, that I'm already eleven, and my wand is long and strong and I'm going to use it as much as I can. It was so weird, she just kept talking about wands and dueling and how wizards have got to protect themselves. I told her I already knew all that stuff but she wouldn't listen and kept saying I didn't understand."

Christopher started to laugh. He fell onto the floor and rolled himself into sausages he was laughing so hard.

It was the first time James and Sirius and Remus had seen Christopher Pettigrew laugh like that. James stared, and Sirius also started to laugh. Remus didn't know what was happening, and felt left out, so he climbed into bed and pretended not to be there.

Needless to say, it was a very strange dynamic in the first-year Gryffindor boys' dorm.

.

.

.

Christopher was quite looking forward to...well, nothing.

He yawned and didn't bother to cover his mouth. Beside him, James yawned. A few minutes of silence. Sirius yawned.

Christopher yawned again-

"Stop it!" Sirius growled. "These things are contagious."

Christopher continued to yawn slow and long as though swallowing a balloon. His mouth seemed to stretch impossibly wide and then slowly close. It was rather like watching a sloth, everything in slow-motion.

Christopher picked up the fork and missed the plate, stabbing James' hand right as James began to yawn. "Shite!" James yelled clear across the hallway.

It was quite amusing, thought Amos Diggory as he passed by. In all his years at Hogwarts he had seen many strange things but not a trio of first years sitting on the floor outside the Great Hall eating breakfast.

"Why are you not eating inside," Amos Diggory asked after many days and weeks of watching the same thing.

"Because," James said loudly and proudly.

"It would be rather annoying don't you think," Sirius continued, even more loudly and proudly, "everyone having to eat at the same table, so close together."

"And so loudly talking," James said, "about stupid and irrelevant things."

"We are so very serious," Sirius said.

"Very serious students," said James as he downed a glass of pumpkin juice. "Very serious indeed. Right, Chris?"

The third boy, whose name Amos could not remember was staring at the wall seeming completely unaware. The boy took a deep breath. It seemed to Amos that he was preparing to say something very serious and deep indeed.

Amos leaned in.

The boy opened his mouth. And yawned. Slowly.

Amos could have banged his head against the wall. "What?" he asked again after the boy had finished yawning.

"Oh," the boy said. "Are you talking to me?"

"Yes I"

"Were you talking to me?"

"Yes I"

"Oh sorry."

And at the same time Sirius Black and the boy said, simultaneously, "It's not you it's me."Sirius rolled his eyes and dug into a pancake. The other boy said nothing.

"That's what he always says," Sirius explained through mouthful of food. "Ifh nwot you ifh mwe."Amos fought not to grimace. It was really a nasty sight.

Amos frowned and said, "Have a nice day." Then he walked away shaking his head.

"Did you have to do that," James complained when the tall boy went away. "My dad knows his dad. They come to all our parties. He's probably gonna tell on me and I'mma get a Howler."

Christopher started to yawn. Sirius groaned. James blinked and also started to yawn.

.

.

.

Autumn rolled through Hogwarts with cooler winds and reddening leaves and oh so wonderful-Quidditch games.

James was so pumped about the first Quidditch game that he was decking out the red and gold scarves and wrapped himself so tightly in them he was practically a mummy.

Christopher disappeared completely on the day prior. In reality, he wandered to the 7th floor and sat down on the window ledge, watching the light of the day pass through stages. So when James found Christopher in the dorm the day of the match he pounced.

"Quidditch?" Christopher said slowly. "It doesn't seem very exciting, except for the Seeker's job. There seems to be a logical fallacy. Why should the rest of the players even be there when their points can be so easily negated by the single capture of the snitch? The game is too lopsided, a good Seeker can end a game before the other players can even play. Who came up with this game? Oh right." Then he paused. "Never mind."

"Pleasssse," James begged, red and gold Quidditch blanket curled around him, hazel eyes peering out. He pouted exaggeratedly. "Pweeeeease!"

Christopher groaned.

"Yes!" James exclaimed.

Christopher marveled. It seemed that in the few months James and Sirius had been following him around (cough stalking) James had learned how to interpret Christopher's caveman linguo. Which groans were No's, which were yes's, which shrugs meant what, and even sometimes grunting- James and Sirius were both becoming rather good at interpreting him.

Lily, of course, being his dear Lily, had been ridiculously perceptive and understood him from the very start. Kind of.

So there he was, twenty minutes before the Quidditch game started, in the middle of the grounds on the way to the field, stuck like a dog chew toy between yippy terrier James and raging pitbull Lily.

"He's sitting with me!" James yelled, growling at Lily.

"He's my friend! He's sitting with me!" Lily yelled back.

They were growling at each other like wild dogs.

Christopher watched blankly. Sirius stood next to him.

"Why can't we all sit together…" Christopher said. "Like in a square formation…"

They didn't hear him.

He sighed into his shoulder.

Sirius laughed.

"Let's go get seats while they duel it out," Sirius said, moving along down. He looked back. "Coming?"

Christopher made a noise and followed, slowly. When the stands came into view, a huge gust of magic all mushed together and wild hit him like a blast in the face.

"You okay?"

Christopher blinked. His eyes focused. He realized he had crouched on the ground with his head between his knees. _Huh._ "Yeah," he said absentmindedly. He felt a little sick, but it was...it was bearable, he thought, running a nervous hand through his hair.

Sirius eyed him. Sirius hmmed, and offered him a hand. Christopher didn't want to take it, because he didn't like to touch people, but Sirius' magic was quite dark and lulling like black waves in the ocean and so Christopher let him pull him up. Sirius stuck close to his side, his arm brushing against Christopher's. He seemed to not want to lose Christopher, and walked a little ahead, ushering them through spots with the less crowds and more open space.

"This way," Sirius said, and picked an area with the least amount of people. Christopher watched him curiously. "Are you coming?" Sirius turned and asked. Christopher realized he had just been standing.

"Oh," Christopher said, and looked at his feet. They really did not want to move, did they.

"Merlin," Sirius exhaled, and walked back. Christopher watched Sirius' shoes bump against the tips of his own rundown sneakers. "Now what are you looking at?" Sirius sighed, and Christopher watched Sirius wrap his hand around Christopher's wrist. Christopher felt very dull at this moment, very buzzed and out of his own body. "You're like a cat," Sirius said, turning and gently pulling Christopher along. "You suck at following people. Whenever I look back you're gone."

"Thanks," Christopher said, when his mouth came back to his body. Wherever it went.

Sirius paused. He turned and looked at him. "Yeah," he said, and Christopher went back to watching Sirius' feet shift uncomfortably. "Come on. James and Lily are gonna be screaming soon." Sirius' left foot kicked at the dirt. His foot looked very embarrassed, Christopher thought.

"We can make them get food," Sirius continued and trailed off. His foot also paused. Then fell hard in the dirt. "Do you want anything?"

"Not hungry," Christopher said. It came out of him very flatly, the words.

Sirius sat down next to him in the stands. A couple minutes later, Sirius stood up, said, "I'm gonna get food." A few minutes later, Sirius feet reappeared in Christopher's vision, black shoes against the metal stands.

"That was quick," Christopher said, and his head felt lighter so he looked up. Sirius had two bags of chocolate frogs and a cup of something steaming.

"Here," he said, and gave it to Christopher.

It was a cup of coffee.

"Where did you get this?" Christopher asked. His face folded into a frown. "I didn't know they had coffee at these events." For whatever reason, wizarding events tending to have most pumpkin juice and orange juice. Coffee, he had read, or at least, coffee that wizarding folk were willing to drink, was quite expensive.

Sirius snorted. "They don't." Sirius grinned. "At least not for commoners. They have it for the rich and noble families in the stands though. And who do you think I am?"

"Oh so you do acknowledge it," Christopher said.

"That I'm rich and noble?" Sirius looked at the field. "I'm not an idiot. And you're not Potter," he said, almost carefully, eyes narrowing. He looked very much like a snake, in that moment, very Slytherin.

"James wouldn't care," Christopher said watching him dully.

Sirius didn't respond.

In the moment Christopher wondered how much of Sirius and James' friendship was real and how much had been started based on Sirius knowing that to survive in Gryffindor he needed a Potter's reputation to boost his own. Sirius' face was not that of a child talking about a trusted friend, it was that of an intelligent Heir irritated by the circumstances of his current existence.

Christopher held the cup in his hand but didn't drink any.

"And for Merlin's sake it wasn't the House Elves, don't look at me like that. I didn't make them make your coffee. I know you hate them and anything they make," Sirius said, looking bored. He put his feet up on the bench in front of them.

"..Hn," Christopher made a noise. The steam wafted in his face, made his tired eyes water. But still he didn't drink.

Sirius noticed. "I made it," Sirius admitted and looked at Christopher carefully, "The stupid squib at the stand wanted to make it but I pushed him out and made it myself. And I know you like it black. It's just coffee, no milk, no sugar, no other stuff." Sirius was watching Christopher like he was an interesting experiment.

"How did you know?" Christopher mused, slowly, turning his head.

"What," Sirius said shortly. "That you have some weird fear of poison?"

The word poison almost made Christopher flinch. Or. Well. He did flinch. He felt it in the pit of his stomach, a churning.

"Sorry. But don't look so surprised. Potter is a little dense at times, probably runs in the family, but Blacks are not as soft," Sirius looked bored and sharp, voice lowered. "I've seen it before."

Christopher, in all his seventy lives, felt his eyebrows lift. Eleven year old Sirius Black, "seen it before"-seen what before? People with a conditioned fear of other people poisoning their food? What on earth did being the Black heir in a family famed for insanity and dark magic entail...

Sirius Black, in that moment, by all means, with his jet black hair and aristocratic, soon-to-be handsome face, looked every bit a Machiavellian Prince.

A little scary, and a little amusing.

Christopher's nose twitched, and his stomach clenched, but he downed the coffee. It was warm and a little thick but it hit his stomach somewhere he'd forgotten where it went and made it warm from the bottom up.

"Alright?" Sirius was watching him.

Christopher nodded.

A couple minutes later and the sound of yelling and squabbling and feet banging on the stands came. It was Lily and James, and they just barely shut up when Sirius shoved the chocolate frogs in their hands. Lily shoved her way to sit on Christopher's left side, and Sirius was sitting on Christopher's right, so James pouted and sat in front of Christopher's legs.

In the end, it was alright, Christopher thought to himself. He was stuffed in between, huddled in a coat, and he was surprised when Sirius wrapped the scarf around both of them. He almost flinched away, but Sirius paused, and Christopher looked at him, and Sirius slowly wrapped it around their necks while he watched. Christopher wasn't quite sure what Sirius was up to with his suddenly-being-generous act, but let him. Sirius' magic was okay, he decided.

His hands were stuffed in his pockets. James'and Lily's and Sirius'-and Remus's for that matter, though he wasn't here at the moment- magic had grown on him over time, all of it familiar and even the agitation of sitting in the midst of a Quidditch audience was alright. It had been a long time, he mused, since he was able to sit in a group of people and not feel like he was going to puke. To be honest, he wasn't paying too much attention to the game.

He was soaking in the presence of the magical presences that had become familiar to him, around him; like a bubble, their presences masked the haywire magics of the crowd around them. He closed his eyes and let his chin dip into the scarf, inhaling the scent of Sirius and cold air and scarf fuzz.

It was a wonderful feeling, he thought to himself.

He could breathe.

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In December, the sign up sheet went up to sign if the students were heading home or staying at Hogwarts for the winter break. Snow was falling outside and collecting on the ground. Sirius was in detention as usual, for calling McGonagall "Minnie."

"Aren't you going home for Yule?" James asked, seeing that Christopher had stopped in front of the sign.

Uh. Memories of his 'father', or more accurately, Pettigrew's horrific household situation popped up in his mind, and he felt like stomach clench. Hell no he was not eager to spend Christmas with _that_.

'Naaaaah," Christopher drawled with a shrug.

"Really?" James asked, frowning. "You should come to my place then!" He grinned.

Christopher turned his head at this, and seemed to regard James curiously. James reveled in the attention, and Christopher could see the boy perk up. He felt a little bad ignoring the boy half the time, but it wasn't even effort on his part, he just did that to everyone. It was second nature.

"Thanks," he said, and tried to make it sound soft, "but nah."

"Aw," James pouted. "Next time!" he grinned, unhurt. "And you can always change your mind!"

Not for the first time, Christopher wandered the hall with James bouncing up and down beside him, chattering about this or that despite Christopher's non-enthusiastic responses. It was quite incredible, he thought to himself.

"You're a good kid, James," he said, interrupting James.

James stopped and stared.

Christopher also stopped walking. He felt very soft on the inside all of a sudden. He felt a little mellow, a sad sort of appreciation for James' brightness.

"Well," James said after a silence, and his hazel looked dead serious into Christopher's eyes, for a moment startling him with their intensity, their earnest fire, "We're friends," he said.

There was no question in the power of it surprised Christopher, made him stop. Made his eyes widen, a little.

He was so surprised that he answered without thinking,

"Okay."

And then he could have rescinded it, except he couldn't have, because James grinned so brightly that Christopher found himself speechless. There was such emotion in it, and such emotion in James magic, that James's magic was dying itself bright and red like the sun itself, and he was, quite literally, blinded by the light of James' soul.

Well. That was a first, he thought, and rubbed his eyes.

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The castle became very empty.

Christopher forgot that it was Christmas, until there was a barrage of owls at the window, which apparently Sirius and James had ganged up together to create. Chris thought that Sirius must have been the one to send the angry, loud, and pooping owls, and James was probably the one that sent the nice owls that tried to rub against him like cats (a little disturbing, too). Then again, the two were just ridiculous enough that James would mistake anger owls for enthusiastic owls and Sirius just emotionally constipated enough for him to somehow screw up niceness and anger. Chris didn't know. Sirius was a strange boy- he never seemed to know if he was going to be nice to Christopher or not.

Whatever.

They dumped things on his bed, presents-no, not bird poop but actual presents- and flew out in a mess of feathers and squawks.

Christopher realized that no owls had come for the sleeping silent Remus. Christopher crept under Sirius bed and found his chocolate stash, and then dumped some on Remus nightstand. A Christmas gift, he decided, for the kid.

Sirius was a dick to the poor kid anyway and Sirius had all these chocolates that he forgot he even had; and besides they'd get moldy by the time Sirius came back to Hogwarts anyway. Christopher was just being a good roommate and doing some house cleaning...and some recycling.

It kind of amused him, this playing Santa, while Christopher could feel Remus's magic kind of perk up from inside the bed with Remus's curiosity. Remus could probably smell both Christopher and the chocolate, it was getting close to the full moon. And because Remus's aura was so prickly right now, Christopher made efforts to duck around it for the most part. He stole one of James socks and stuffed it with more of Sirius's stashed chocolate. For the kicks he dropped one of James embarrassing pairs of boxers into Remus drawer with a note "if ever blackmailed, get out of jail free card"

Then Christopher had amused himself and called it a good day and felt pretty proud of himself for doing something for once.

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"He's most likely merely having difficulties adjusting," Dumbledore said in the meeting.

McGonagall gnashed her teeth together. She did not want to cause undue stress by bothering the eleven year old boy known as Christopher Pettigrew.

Besides, she supposed, Dumbledore was correct. The most concerning of the first years was Remus Lupin, who always looked ill and sickly-and was, and furthermore was a legal risk for the school, and for himself, by the fact of his mere existence. Then there was the problematic Black heir who had defied all expectations and caused a potential political backlash by joining the Gryffindor house. James Potter whose wealthy family was heavily invested in Hogwarts and therefore needed careful observation and care. Not to mention the mugglenorn Lily Evans brimming with potential to serve as a figurehead of muggleborn rights in the future. And that was only among her Gryffindors. The new first-years were certainly not a dull bunch...

"Now," Dumbledore threaded his hands together, the twinkle in his eyes dulling with seriousness. "Let us discuss…"

Indeed, there were much greater things to worry about, McGonagall acknowledged, than a single perhaps lazy student. The stirrings of political unrest in the wizarding world, the increasing rate of crimes against muggleborns… What a dark world. Indeed, there were many more concerning matters at hand.

And so the file of one Peter not-Peter Pettigrew, small and thin and untouched, was pushed under the pile of thicker files, and laid there for years and years, forgotten.

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A/N: Sorry guys for late updates! I'm studying abroad right now, and writing chapters takes me ridiculously long anyways. Anyway, thanks for reading and please drop a review! Many of you leave wonderful feedback and ideas/suggestions/questions and I read all of them many many times for inspiration and for help and they do indeed influence the way this story goes, so if you like this story please leave a review! would make my day :) thanks guys


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Can I Tell You a Secret

Christopher sighed. "Snape," he said again slowly. He was staring at Severus' face. "Snape. Huh," he said. "That name reminds me of something..."

Snape's eyebrow twitched. "Yes, well, we do happen to have Potions class toge-"

"Snape," Christopher went on, staring at the ceiling. He raised a finger. "Snaaaaaaaaape?" he drew it out. He paused for a long time. Then he said, "Severus Snape."

"Oh, so you do rem-"

"DUMBLEDORE!"

"What?"

"Oh, sorry," Christopher said, scratching his head. "Never mind, now that song's stuck in my head. Jesus," he said, leaning towards Severus and looking rather disgruntled. "I can't look at your face, I'll never get it out of my head now."

And Christopher turned and walked away with his hands in his pockets (a signature look, this was called the 'Pettigrew slouch' by Lily's roommates and was subject of many loving sighs).

Lily sighed heavily, and rubbed her chin.

You see, it was a well-known fact that Lily Evans was not good at making friends. Back in muggle school, she often became distracted during conversations, she could never manage to get on any sports teams, and luckily escaped the nickname Carrot-head—but only because everyone called her Airhead instead.

In the entirety of her life, she had only managed to make two friends: Severus Snape, and now Christopher Pettigrew.

They were both smart. They were both rather antisocial.

Lily thought that they would have got along. She had thought, introducing them to each other would be a great idea!

(It was not a great idea.)

Their first meeting had gone terribly.

"We can all be best friends now!" Lily said, clapping her hands together. "Haha. Hahahaha. Ha."

Severus had stared at Christopher's back very suspiciously.

"I don't like him," Severus hissed, clutching his books closer to him. "I don't know what games he's playing or what drugs he's on but the least he could do is acknowledge fellow students properly. You shouldn't trust him," Severus said, narrowing his eyes. "There's something up with him."

 _Isn't there something up with all of us,_ Lily thought.

There was also more that Severus wasn't saying, but she didn't press it. Sev was knowing for being irritable sometimes, and very stingy with his deductions. He was like uh… a really irritable Sherlock Holmes sometimes. She didn't want to press him.

Later, Lily asked Christopher what he thought about Severus.

"How did you think it went?" she asked. "I don't think he likes you too much, but don't worry about it!" She laughed. "He hates everyone. At first. At least. Or for a very long time. Or forever. Until death. And beyond maybe. Depends on if you're religious."

"Uhhh," Christopher said, shoulders sinking into that signature terrible slouch. "Who?"

"What?" Lily yelped. "Jeez, didn't I just introduce you to him?" She grabbed his arm and he stumbled slowly behind her, yawning all the way. "Snape!" she said when he looked at her blankly. "Severus Snape!"

"Dumbledore," Christopher said, as if on reflex. "Oh right! Yes, yes Snape." Christopher tilted his head. He pressed a hand to his head and Lily could see some sort of frustration in him.

"Do you remember now?" she asked.

Lily had gotten used to these lapses; with Christopher, they were kind of unavoidable. If anyone ever asked, he said he got lost easily. Potter and his gang always thought Christopher was joking, but Lily was apt to thinking he was mostly telling the truth.

He got lost in the world and in his head, whatever was inside of it. It helped him reorient himself if she touched his hand, or did some magic, or said Hogwarts and a bunch of other names. "Key terms," Christopher called them.

"Uhhh sure," Christopher said, scratching his head. "Sure."

Lily thought that meant he sort of remembered.

"Yeah," Christopher sighed. "The brain's not working today sorry," he said, tapping his head. "It's goldfish mode today," he shrugged. "At best."

"Oh," Lily said. "I'll just ask you again tomorrow."

"Okay," he said and let Lily drag him down the hallway.

"Let's go to the library," Lily declared and turned to smile at him.

Half-asleep and kind of dazed, Christopher smiled too. It kind of amused Lily; everyone thought Christopher was terribly emotionless, but actually he was probably one of the sweetest people Lily had ever met. Well, he did have a mean side. The mean side made him funny.

(Lily and Christopher were often seen walking into walls. Or arguing about inane things, like socks, or oranges, or differential equations. Amongst upperclassmen, they were known as the Dunderhead Duo, and were sometimes spotted in the hallways arguing over which one was the airheaded one. Lily insisted that it was Christopher; Christopher said no, it was Lily.

Ironically, they both were equally likely to forget what they had been arguing about within a few minutes.

Note: If asked, they will deny this. )

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Lily had to deal with all this talk about boys, including Chris and although sometimes it bored her to tears, other times it was sort of interesting.

"Let's rate them! The Gryffindor boys," said Mary excitedly.

Lily put down her book and turned around in her chair to stare.

"Sirius Black is super sexy," Marlene said. "He's a ten out of ten, no doubt," she said.

"James is a ten," Alice said, "not Sirius, for certain."

"No way, Sirius Black is sooo much hotter," giggled Mary. Mary was shy in front of everyone else, but in the dorm she became fairly raucous. "Don't you think?"

"I mean, he's pretty and all, what with his good genes," said Alice, "but if we're between Black and Potter I prefer Potter."

"You do like the good-boys," said Marlene with a smirk.

"No," said Alice, offended. "Not always. I just think Potter has better hair. And besides, doesn't he look like a prince?"

"He's your top pick then?" asked Mary.

"No, no," said Alice, and blushed. "Er."

"I bet it's Christopher-not-Peter-not-Chris Pettigrew, isn't it," said Marlene deviously.

Alice turned more red.

"Knew it," said Marlene.

"He's just, he's so nice," Alice said, hands on her cheeks, "and mature, you know, whereas Black and Potter, they can act like toddlers, you know? And the other guy, you know Loopy or whatever, he doesn't talk at all, he just runs away, so that's a total zero."

Not talking and running away? Well, that sounded like Chris too, but Lily kept her mouth shut.

"A-and besides, Pettigrew can be so polite. A real gentleman, you know. Sometimes, anyway. But then, he's also so mysterious." Then Alice looked at Lily, and blushed more. "Oh, don't say anything to him, please!"

"Of course she won't," said Marlene, "this is girls talk, you know, what goes in the dorm stays in the dorm. Even if you are his best friend, or whatever," Marlene said with narrowed eyes.

Lily swallowed. "Sure," she said.

Sometimes Christopher held the door open for Alice and other people or-whoever was behind him actually- and sometimes he appeared to not notice and left it to slam in their face.

Apparently, Lily marveled, this had some sort of magical effect where he was not the white prince on the horse nor the dark dragon delinquent, but rather a mysterious layering of them both, and therefore attracted a lot of attention despite his rather inconspicuous appearance.

"But I also can't tell you about him," Lily said, clutching her pillow. "Like I can't tell him about you-but I also can't tell you about him. Friend pacts. You know." This was a lie, of course. Lily would tell Chris everything about them if she wanted to.

"You two have secrets?" Mary gaped.

"I'm so jealous," said Alice.

Marlene flipped her long blonde hair. "Well, one day we'll get it out of you," she said.

"Who do you like then, Marlene?" asked Lily. Lily was actually curious. She shouldn't have asked.

"Oh wouldn't you like to know," said Marlene. "You'll find out soon enough," she said ominously.

Indeed, Lily would.

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"I can't wait for when we are third years," Marlene said with a horrendously loud sigh and a flip of her hair. "Right? Right?" she said, being exceedingly obnoxious in Lily's opinion.

"Sure," Lily droned. "Ah-huh. Sure."

"Hm," said Christopher, looking at the walls. "I guess…"

Marlene looked briefly irritated. It was just a flash and then a brilliant smile. "Then, I can start wearing all sorts of makeup and stuff," Marlene said, and pouted. "You know they have all those age limits on the stuff they sell at the boutiques. You can't even order it by owl! So annoying. And the spells are risky until we're better at charms. I can't wait until I'm older. Then I'll look so much better."

"You're plenty adorable the way you are," said Christopher, with a smile. He turned and kept walking, not seeming to realize that Marlene was frozen, mouth agape.

"Urgh," Lily made a noise. She hadn't realized until they hung out more, but the more they hung out the more Lily realized how often Christopher opened his mouth and put his foot inside. _You idiot,_ Lily thought to herself. _This is why everyone thinks you are a huge flirt._

Christopher realized both Lily and Marlene had stopped walking, and walked backwards to meet them. He looked confused.

"What did you say?" Marlene asked.

"Why, I said you're adorable," Christopher repeated, with raised eyebrows.

Marlene smiled a very shark-ly smile for a skinny little girl. Christopher looked a little alarmed.

"...Right?" Christopher said. "I mean, we're eleven…"

"Yes, we _are_ already eleven!" Marlene practically shrieked.

 _Oh bother,_ thought Lily.

Marlene grabbed Christopher's arm (Lily noticed he flinched, a little), but he let Marlene drag him forward. "I totally agree, Chris. I'm so glad you're so honest, so mature, unlike other boys our age. We don't need to wait until we're thirteen or fifteen or whatever to do anything, I mean, we're already basically grownups anyway, it's not like we're little kids anymore. It's time that we all begin to date, if you know what I mean," she said, and winked at Christopher.

Christopher stopped walking this time. "Huh?" Then he looked at Lily. "But we're only eleven," Christopher said. "We _are_ only eleven, right."

Lily sighed and almost slapped her own face. "Yes," she said.

Christopher stared down at the arm that Marlene was practically hanging off. Marlene was looking up at him, batting her eyelashes.

Lily watched slow realization dawn on Christopher's face. "Oh no...I meant," he said, looking at Marlene. Then he looked so hopelessly confused, and frustrated that he just shook his head. "Er, nevermind." He exhaled heavily.

Marlene smiled prettily at Christopher.

 _I better save him,_ Lily thought. Lily tore Marlene's grasp away, grabbing Christopher's arm for herself.

"Huh?" Marlene blinked. "Where are you going?"

Lily had grabbed Christopher and they were already half way down the hall. "GottagodosomethingyeahyeahwhoknowshahaBYE!" Lily yelled.

"Bye," Marlene's voice echoed in the distance.

At a rather far distance, Lily let go of Christopher's arm and they collapsed against the wall, panting heavily. "Why," Lily panted, "did you have to," she groaned, "say that?"

"What, that she's adorable?" Christopher said, high pitched and airy. For once his eyes were wide. "How was I supposed to know she'd take it that way!"

Lily groaned even louder.

"We're only eleven! Dating is like, dating is like, urgh," Christopher groaned and leant further into Lily's side. "I meant, because we're all like eleven, you know, you people are all small and ya know, midget-y, you know, she's a cute kid you know? You're adorable, James is adorable, hell, Snape is adorable-you're all plenty adorable the way you are, that's all I meant, you know? Ugh no, you don't know, you can't know, ughhhhh," he said, looking depressed. He slammed the back of his head into the wall.

"Ow," Lily said, for him.

"I didn't mean to, to flirt you know, you know?" Christopher said.

Lily was internally relieved. "You're a weirdo," she said, crouching in front of him.

He had sank to the floor and hugged his legs.

"I know," he said. "So are you," he said and smirked.

"Cookie?" she asked, and held out one of the cookies they had made together a few nights ago, in the kitchens.

He ate it straight from her fingers, and, they shared a laugh when a piece of chocolate chip fell and got all over his pants.

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Detention was a mildly interesting affair. "Yo…" Christopher said, upon opening the door with his foot and seeing James and Sirius already there. "Wie geht's?" he said, hands lazily in his pockets.

James squealed and squashed Sirius's head in his hands. Sirius looked annoyed, both at James for squashing him and Christopher for just being there.

James started to chatter. Filch arrived a minute later, grouching and frowning, and ordered the three of them to clean the dirty Quidditch trophy room.

No magic.

Christopher was vaguely annoyed that he had to do detention. Well, he always ended up having detentions, because he didn't do his homework. It kind of amused him, because if he didn't spend his time doing homework in the first place, why would they assume he would spend his time doing homework when he now had detentions all the time anyway?

Ridiculous education systems, he thought, and once again pondered dropping out of Hogwarts. The magic was uncomfortable and gross, except for Lily's and maybe a couple other peoples'. He did fine in practicals but he kind of sucked at controlling magic anyway. He didn't do the homework, usually. Dumbledore apparently didn't care though, and at least he passed the midterms and important stuff.

He could totally drop out though. Probably. Wait. But would they even let him? Was that illegal, or something? Bad for the magic or something? Huh. But then, where else could he go. Well. Anywhere. He also had no money, but well, that wasn't a new scenario or anything. He could probably get by, stealing. Doing other unsavory shit. But would it be worth? And who even cared... and what if the magical world had trackers? He sighed and continued cleaning.

A good half-hour passed before Christopher spoke up.

"...Have you never cleaned before?" Christopher asked the two.

He hadn't noticed, but then it became very hard not to notice, even for an idiot like Christopher. James and Sirius both crowded around the water pail, staring at the rags confused. They kept looking over at Christopher and trying to copy him, or something, because Christopher kept feeling their eyes on him. Christopher was pretty sure James had been scrubbing the same trophy for half an hour, and Sirius seemed like he thought if he dropped soapy water from the rag and frowned long enough, the stains would dissolve themselves.

They turned to him, James looking like a deer in headlights, Sirius looking like a peeved puppy.

"Uhhhh," James said.

Sirius just looked annoyed. "What do you think."

"Nein? Jesus, freaking Ouran high school rich ass fucking kids," Chris mumbled to himself. They continued to look at him. Christopher sighed. "Goddammit." He put down the bucket, and called out to them. "Could you come here? And I'll show you."

They wandered over, James looking bashful and curious, and Sirius looking a little indignant.

Christopher waved them closer, and crouched on the ground. They crouched around him.

He almost couldn't believe he was having to explain this to people, but then again, he couldn't really blame them. After all, he did have some lives where he was rich.

Unfortunately, this was not one of them.

"So, you're gonna clean a lot faster if you actually use the soap in the bucket," he said. He felt like a really phony youtuber doing a parody tutorial. "Yeah, so you take this rag thing and you dunk it in the water, and oh yeah, wring it out properly, ya know…"

"How do you know this?" Sirius asked, with curious grey eyes.

Christopher snorted. He ducked his head and murmured more in what sounded like a mix of Spanish and Korean, then went on swishing the rag around the bucket.

"What'd ya say?" James was eager as always.

Christopher lifted his head and looked at him with those dull eyes. "Well... when you don't have an army of house slaves, someone's gotta do the cleaning," he said, a little sweat rolling down his forehead. He lifted his arm to rub it off on his t-shirt sleeve.

"Are you poor?" Sirius blurted.

Christopher stopped. "What?"

"I've never met a poor person before," Sirius grumbled, and of all times, appeared to be blushing.

"Uh," Christopher said, not sure what to say. He didn't know why Sirius was blushing now of all times, and chose to ignore it. "I'm not rich, is all," he muttered, at least in English this time. Though it had a weird Australian accent, Sirius noted.

"Really?" James said. "That's pretty cool, mate, like a real pirate! Real pirates don't have house elves, there's no house, a ship right."

"Ay, Bambi," Christopher said, shaking his head a little fondly. He murmured something under his breath, which Sirius thought might be Arabic, strangely enough. Nah, must have heard wrong.

"What? Are you gonna try it?" Christopher asked Sirius.

Sirius blinked. "I," he said, and frowned. "Merlin's balls, my old hag would be pissed if she knew I was doing this," Sirius muttered to himself. He made a face at the rag.

"It's real dirty ain't it," Christopher said, with an American twang. "For a pureblood boy," he said, and smirked at Sirius. "Though your mouth is pretty dirty already."

Sirius didn't really know how to respond. Usually, people didn't joke about his status, or his family. It somehow, seemed like people were afraid to acknowledge exactly how out of place Sirius was in the Gryffindor house. Now that he was sorted there, it seemed like, everyone thought he'd been destined to be there all along. His family said he'd always been rotten. James and a bunch of other Gryffindors said he's always been the "right sort". But Sirius didn't feel it, and he didn't feel like he knew what he was doing, not before and not then and not now either.

"Whyn't you prove her wrong. Here," Christopher said, lip twitching.

He took Sirius' hand.

Sirius startled. It was one of the first times Christopher ever initiated contact. In fact, Sirius felt, it was the first time that Christopher had ever touched Sirius' hand.

"Ah, gracias," Christopher said as he took Sirius' hand, wrapped his fingers around it, and showed him how to scrub with the rag.

"This is really boring," said James sadly, staring at the rag.

"Well that's what it takes to be a pirate," said Christopher dryly. "Boring tasks. Lots of chores. Cleaning." He spoke like he knew.

"Let's not be pirates," said James.

"I think it's okay," said Sirius. "This cleaning thing. Kind of relaxing…What," he said, when he realized James and Christopher were staring at him.

"Can I actually marry you," said James. "Like. Can I actually marry—"

A wet rag hit him the face.

("It's interesting," said James to Christopher, later that night. They were brushing their teeth. James let the toothbrush rest on the sink, looking down at it. "I wonder if he thinks I'll hate him for his family."

"Maybe," said Christopher, carefully.

"I won't, if you're wondering," James said. He started to brush his teeth again, and foam came out while he talked. "I don't think he knows but my family is pretty stuck up too. I mean, we're related, you know. My mum's a Black."

Christopher almost choked.

""Waz up?" James got out through foam in his mouth.

"Are we related," Christopher said, very seriously.

James laughed.

)

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They served many detentions, James and Sirius for pranks, Christopher for not doing his homework. And also sometimes because the teachers thought he was also in on the pranks. And he was, sort of, in terms of knowing about it and such, but usually he was too lazy to join in on the actual doing of the prank. He was also too lazy to argue with the teachers who blamed him. Thus, they served many a detention together, cleaning rooms, sitting and watching clocks, and doing whatever the detention entailed.

One night in the middle of the spring term, they were assigned to clean the trophy room again. An hour into it, the room was dead quiet as they scrubbed at the trophies. Sirius looked up, and realized Christopher had been on the other side of the room with his back to them, sitting in the same spot for a long time. He looked at James, and James stood up, quietly, and tiptoed over.

Chris was dozing with his head against the side of the cupboard. The moment James took a step towards him, he snapped awake, shook his head, and continued scrubbing. James turned back.

Ten minutes later, there was silence from Christopher's side of the room, again.

Sirius looked over, and Chris's head had fallen, leaning on the cupboard, his hand loose at his side, wet rag dripping on the floor. Sleeping.

This time James and Sirius just looked at each other, and kept scrubbing at the trophies.

When Chris roused, James grabbed the rag out of his hand just in time to stop Chris from rubbing his eye with soap.

Chris jumped, and looked up, wide eyed, and blinked.

"Detention's over," James said. He grinned and held out his hand. Sirius was leaning against the cabinets, hands in his pockets.

Christopher didn't really say anything, still numb with sleep. Sirius held out the bucket and Christopher dropped his rag in it. James took his other hand and tugged him to his feet.

"Oh," Christopher said, stopping. "It's clean."

Sirius could never get it out of his head how relieved Christopher looked. It was a very strange look, a mix of exhaustion, relief and resignation.

One time, Sirius remembers, sitting at the dinner table, maybe he was six or seven- anyway, before he realized he really truly hated his parents- when Walburga the pig had her arm all wound up to whack Kreacher.

Then there was an owl at the window, from Sirius' uncle or something-he couldn't quite remember- and Walburga said "Oh, the mail's come" and turned away, leaving Kreacher standing there staring.

Sirius could never describe what Kreacher looked like at that moment, except to say that Christopher's face, then, looked just like that. Not in facial structure—obviously- or even expression. But the way he looked at the room, at Sirius and James-at something they could not see and was inside his head-like it was going to whack him in the face...

Until he was faced with a reality where the whack didn't come, nothing came at all, and somehow the acceptance of that seemed more impossible than the acceptance of whack itself, and so it was as if the whack had come whether it did, or it did not. And yet that sort of whimsical play of fate, of whether one is whacked or not, seemed to be accepted as just another fact of existing- and so to be resigned to it, the state of perpetual limbo, yet exhausted by it and relieved by it all at once, that was the face that Christopher held at that moment.

"Are you coming?" James pulled Sirius out of his thoughts. Christopher was already wandering ahead, it seemed, the door propped open by James' scuffed shoe.

"Yeah," Sirius said, slowly, and followed them out.

.

.

.

"Chris," James whispered, one night, as the door creaked open.

There was a sigh. Christopher slouched into the room, looking dead on his feet.

"Where were you," James grumbled, rubbing his eyes. He sat up in bed, holding the curtains open so he could peer in the dark. "You're always disappearing."

James thought it was terrible, since it was the Potter family that had the invisibility cloak, not Chris.

"Sorry," Christopher sighed quietly.

To James' surprise, Christopher tip toed over and sat on the edge of James' bed, back to James.

"Bad dream?" James asked. He sat up more, scooting to press his back against the bed frame.

"I'm fine," Christopher whispered, slouching more. He turned to look at James, and even the dark, James could see the shadows around his eyes, his face, the lines of his neck. "Bad dream?"

James was very quiet. Christopher turned around for real, and James beckoned him further into the bed. The curtains had dropped around them, leaving them encased in darkness. A small pillar of moonlight slipped through, a white bar across James' face.

"Can I tell you a secret?" James whispered, staring Christopher in the eye.

It was the same look in James' eyes that Christopher had seen before, in rare moments of earnestness and power that surprised Chris into waking.

Christopher nodded.

James lifted his hand, and his fingers brushed Christopher's palm.

"I can feel your magic."

.

.

.

A/N: Hey guys! Happy New Year! It's really thanks to everyone's continuing support that this chapter is here for you today! Even though I take very long to update, when I see a review I am always so happy that people are reading this still, and it really helps me get my fingers moving again lol. Sorry if there are some errors/typos! I don't have a beta reader and I do my best looking it over, but there are always errors.

All of you guys asking for Snape interactions inspired the scene at the top. One of you asked for Lily's perspective and that also factored in! I really really love getting feedback and thanks so much for everything :) Wouldn't have been able to write this without you guys. It's hard for me to reply because college, but PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW, I read every single one of them over and over again! My life sustenance.

What do you think about Chris's relationships with everyone now? Who do you want to see more of? Who do you like Chris with so far? ;) We'll be moving onto second year soon!


	9. Chapter 9

Ch 9: You are Satan's Cure

James had never seen a person go so still, so quiet, so suddenly.

For a long time, Chris didn't say anything. He didn't say a word. He didn't even look like he could move.

Then Chris looked down. He didn't shake or anything. Just, his chestnut hair, dark in the shadows of the night, messy with sleep-or, lack of sleep- tumbled forward, down. James watched Chris' shoulders rise in a slow and steady inhale.

He could feel Chris's magic; it surged like an ocean, a wave drawing back water and then-

Stillness.

It was gone like a soft exhale, the gentlest, most slight breeze. A curtain falling back. Absolute quiet.

"He's gone," James whispered, and stumbled to Chris's bed, and put his head in his hands.

.

.

.

Chris felt awful.

What an idiot, he thought to himself, smacking himself in the face. He smacked himself twice (or thrice? Who was counting…) before just holding his palm to his face, pressing it there in frustration.

What- so everyone could feel his magic-and thereby his emotions, what he was thinking, what he was feeling?

"What the fuck? Seriously. What the fuck man…" Chris groaned. He walked down the hallway one way. Then he walked down the hall the other way.

He walked back and forth in straight lines, down the same hallway. It was the middle of the night; the moon stared through the window, a white smear in dark shadows.

He walked and walked and walked, not because he wanted to, but because he couldn't seem to stop. _Not_ walking seemed absurd. Impossible. Funny, even. The thought of turning a corner, or making a round turn, even that, seemed ridiculous. Straight lines, back and forth. Back and forth.

I'm an idiot, Chris thought to himself. Inútil. Inútil. Inútil. His chest churt. His heart slammed against his ribs. Inútil. He groaned, clutching his head. "Soy un pendejo…"

And they'd all been sitting in class, and he'd pretended to be tired, but his magic would be-a monster, really, a monster- and everyone, everyone, the students the teachers Dumbledore James Sirius Remus Lily...

I don't understand it. Chris walked faster. I don't understand it. I don't understand it. I don't understand it.

I don't understand.

Chris couldn't get the image out of his head. Okay inútil, breathe, he told himself. (soy un pendejo) breathe. (pendejo pendejo pendejo)

"What-and they didn't even think to tell me?" The words fell like whispers out of his mouth. He could hardly hear himself and that made it worse. "Be like, yo Chris ma boy, yo magic like crazy yo, you crazy yo, get outta here pendejo- not even a yo you okay bro, nope nooooo. Nothing." His voice sounded funny in the hall. So young. So twisted.

One-man comedy show.

Chris paused. It was so quiet. He crossed his arms against his chest, and squeezed his fingers into the flesh of the inside of his elbows.

Could they feel it even now? There were people everywhere in this castle. Pendejo.

"It's okay, it doesn't matter," Chris thought he was saying to himself. "Why would it matter, there's always the next life, you know, but why does this happen to me, don't be an asshole, calm the fuck down-" he inhaled through his nose. Squeeze. Squeeze.

He walked and walked and eventually walked into a wall. He knew because it smacked him in the face. He flopped his back against the wall and slid down it with a groan.

One part of his brain said, god, it's just a bunch of eleven year old kids. Why the fuck-who even the fuck cares? And felt absolutely nothing. Nothing at all.

The moon stared at him.

And another part of him-the physical side, the side that couldn't grasp the memo of his logical half, couldn't even think. James can feel my magic. Oh my god. Pendejo pendejo pendejo.

Everything expanded, and then shrunk, and then he was not able to breathe. Wheezing. Wheeze. Can't breathe. Holy shit. "Fuck." He clutched at the wall, the stones, sinking his fingers in. It felt like the castle was awful, and his magic was expanding, and he could feel everything and what if everyone could feel him too?

They all knew he was here, then, no matter where he hid, no matter what he did, they could feel him and find him and the walls were closing-

Then, coming down the hall, Chris felt heaven.

"Jesus Christ," Chris whispered, fingers loosening. They were so stiff. He'd been yanking at his hair, he realized. "That feels like fucking angel piss."

It literally did. It felt like wet warmth going all over him and forcing him into relaxation. It was a tired kind of warmth. Like relief. It was an angel. It was drugs.

It was Remus Lupin stumbling down the hall with blood on his clothes and a hospital blanket around his shoulders.

Ah, thought Chris, feeling rather high and floaty. So this is Remmy Remmy Remus Lupin right after a transformation. A werewolf and a boy so tired like after having run a million marathons. The magic felt so relaxed he could die.

"What?"

"If angels could piss magical healing rainbows... Which I hope they do, that's what you are right now," Chris said. "But I guess I'll never know. Because I'm never going to see them. Because this is fucking hell. Naaaah, not even hell. No place in hell for me. They don't like me down there, ya feel me."

Chris felt he was rambling but couldn't even hear his own words. (Angel piss, he thought, he felt almost drunk). He slid down the wall and his head banged against something. God knows what. "Dios mio, dios mio."

Remus stopped walking and stared at Chris. He looked like a deer in headlights. Which was funny because how could a wolf look like a deer. "...Hullo," whispered Remus. His voice cracked. He drew the blanket around his shoulders tighter and looked way, trying to hide. "What are you doing here?" His voice was tiny, and adorable.

Chris basked in his magic. "Call me Icarus, but I want to be in your sun," he murmured to himself. Chris was so happy to relax in Remus' post-transformation magic that he didn't care to stop talking.

"Um," Remus said, bending at the waist but keeping his distance. His blanket draped down and fell a little on the floor. "I don't mean to be questioning, but are you….are you...are you okay?" He sounded so curious, but so caring.

"More than fine," Chris grumbled. He met Remus' eyes. Remus blushed. "I'm so happy to see you. Your presence is a literal gift from fucking god." He reached out to hold Remus' hand.

Remus flinched back.

Chris stared. "Oh…" He pulled back and buried his head in his hands. Or his hands in his head. He just wanted to fold into himself. "I guess you can feel my magic...sorry…" He turned his head to the side.

"What?" Remus asked.

Chris felt a little annoyed. He was jealous of Remus' blanket and almost wanted to climb into the wall. "You know y'all coulda _told_ me if my magic is being a bother you know…I...I could leave, or I could drop out, or I could, ya know..." he made all sorts of hand motions he didn't even know. "Ya know.."

"Drop out?" Remus whispered. He looked horrified. "What?! Please d-don't! N-not...No? I don't know? There's no bother? You're not a bother?"

"My magic must be awful," Chris said, pressing his hand into his face. He didn't want to look at Remus anymore.

"D-did you get a bad grade?" Remus asked, tilting his head to the side. He frowned. "That's okay, I'm sure you can...I mean.."

"No, I mean you can feel it, and I'm sure it feels goddamned awful," Chris snarled, glaring at Remus through his fingers on his face. Chris couldn't deal with feeling sorry. "You coulda told me you could feel it. I feel like someone stared at me in the toilet and no one told me."

"I can't feel your magic," Remus whispered, sounding confused. "That's not...in this age, no one can...I don't know what you are talking about. I'm sorry. You'll have to explain."

"James told me-" Chris started.

Remus seemed to turn red. "Oh no, it's okay you don't have to tell me your secrets, I know we're not friends and I'm sure it's some kind of secret friend thing…" Remus trailed off, looking to the side. His brow furrowed and he looked pale and sad and thin.

It made Chris feel sad, too. "I don't have friends," Chris said slowly, turning his head to the side.

"Yes you do," Remus said petulantly.

"Uhhhh no," Chris said.

"Yes, you do," Remus said again.

"Uhhhh no," Chris said, and flopped his head into his knees, which he'd drawn up to his chest. "No."

"I can't feel your magic or whatever and I don't know what you are talking about," Remus said finally after a long silence. He was frowning. Gripping the blanket tightly.

"Uhhh wait. So you can't feel my magic," Chris said.

"Um...no," Remus whispered. "Of course not." He turned his head, giving Chris the side-eye, with a wide innocent eye. "...Sorry?"

Chris lifted his head, and stared.

"Really," Chris said.

"What?" Remus looked frustrated.

He doesn't know, Chris realized. He can't. He can't feel the magic.

"Aw man. Thank God," Chris exhaled.

"Are you mad at me?" Remus asked the question like a reflex. "Are you trying to trick me? Is this a prank?" His head whipped from side to side but of course, there was no one else in the halls.

"Nah honey boo boo, you're good. You're soooo fucking good," Chris's head banged into whatever it was again. "Hey do you know what could make a person able to feel magic? Is it, just some people? Not everyone?"

"I think," Remus said after a long time in silence. He rocked a little on his feet. The blanket swished with him. "That's a um. A condition. That's rare. An old kind of...ancient thing." He was quiet. "Who is it? There's someone that can feel magic at Hogwarts? I thought...only Dumbledore could..."

"James is rare?" Chris asked.

"James?" Remus squeaked. "It's James?" Then, a breath. Silence. He sounded scared. "James... can feel magic?"

"I know, right," Chris said, laughing all of a sudden. Just James...just James is okay. It's okay. Or way better than what he'd thought, which is that everyone could feel...everything. The relief was hard-hitting. "What the fuck, right? He can feel allllll of the emotions and the weird shit and the panic attacks…man...no wonder he's like a two year old but knows everything, my god."

"Oh no," Remus whispered. "Oh...oh no, Merlin no. Merlin, I...no, I…no wonder he doesn't like me he must've hemust've knownhemustv'eohmerlinmerlin-

"No!" Chris yelled all of a sudden. "Noooooo panicky please, god no." Chris could feel Remus getting worked up, the so-relaxing magic suddenly warping with prickly waves of discomfort. Stop him! His brain screamed. Stop him from panicking!

How to stop him?

Chris opened his mouth. "Iiiiiiii will protect you."

"What?" Remus sounded flat. His panic spiked.

"Hermanos! Let's be hermanos," Chris blurted. He would do anything to make Remus' magic go back to the way it was before. The panic was killing him. The desperation to feel Remus' calming magic was the same as that he'd felt to get closer to Lily. _Call me a drug abuser, whatever…_

"What's that," Remus whispered.

"Hermanos!" Chris yelled, jumping to his feet. "Hermanos goddamit!" He suddenly forgot what the word was in English. "Hermanos hermanos hermanos hermanos ah….Er...sisters! Familia! Famiglia-bros! I mean mates. Y'all gotta know the lingo, man, Spanish is a common language."

"I don't...Spanish...what?" Remus looked like he was going to run away with his blanket over his head, so Chris in a wild fit flung himself at Remus. Don't leave me motherfucker, I need you, Chris thought, gripping Remus' sweater like a lifeline.

"We can be like huevos rancheros," Chris said forcefully. Happily. "Vegan huevos. Rancheros. Two pigs in a blanket." He peeked up at Remus. Remus was staring at a wall, with wide eyes.

"So...you want to be friends," Remus whispered with an armful of desperate-Chris. He didn't look _too_ freaked out... so Chris figured he was okay.

"Uhh-huh," Chris said slowly, rubbing his head against Remus soft sweater belly. "Hai, amigo." He watched Remus carefully. "Eres mi ángel...No me dejes señorita por favor. Mis drugos. Drogas. Necesiiiiiito."

Slowly, the panic settled. Remus' magic slowed; the piercing panic calmed into gentle waves. It felt like needles running up and down Chris' spine."Ooooh acupuncture," Chris whimpered, draping himself all across Remus' front. "You are Satan's cure."

Remus even smiled, a little. Chris watched him. Watched the slow smile across Remus' damp, dried-sweat face. It was like the sun dawning.

Oh no. That was just the sun actually dawning. Behind Remus' head.

"I have no idea what you are doing," was what finally came out of Remus. It was so short, and so annoyed, Chris snorted. Remus was still smiling the angelic smile of godliness, while making words that sounded annoyed. "You know, I think you should sit down," Remus said, still smiling his head off.

"Don't wanna," Chris grumbled. Now feeling sleepy.

Remus sighed. It was a long sigh. Very long sigh. "Okay," whispered Remus. Remus ran a hand down his face. Chris felt Remus' muscles tense. What is he doing? "Okay." Remus nodded to himself. "We can go sleep now."

"Wha-

And then-Chris experienced momentary dissociation. He literally thought he was having a high. Having a trip. But no, it was just Remus, a skinny eleven year old werewolf kiddo-at what...3 am? Nah, the sun was coming out-5 am? 6 am?- tired after coming back from a romp with the werewolf- and he was folding his arms under Chris' (bony) thighs and PICKING HIM UP-

"Holy shit," Chris whispered, swinging his legs around Remus. "I mean shite. Shite! You're a God."

"You're weird," Remus said. He sounded happy. And relieved. What a strange kiddo. "I think you should eat more." Remus hitched Chris a little higher so Chris was wrapped around his torso like a panda to bamboo.

Then he held Chris in one arm and the other tossed the blanket over Chris' head. Chris felt warmth on top of his head as the blanket cottony and soft and smelling of blood and grass and magic, fell over his hair and back, cutting off the outside world.

Chris might have made a noise. Might have.

Remus wrapped one arm around Chris' back and left the other under his legs, and skinny eleven year old Remus speed-walked down the hall with as much difficulty as a sumo wrestler running while carrying a balloon. "We are going to bed."

"What the fuuuuuuuck," Chris said. He felt wide awake now, and tightened his grip around Remus' shoulders. "Can I call you Daddy now."

"What? Let's just get back to the dorm," Remus said, looking at the window, completely ignoring what Chris said. "Merlin, it's morning already!" Remus grumbled. "I'm carrying you back to the dorm because you are much too tired. And you don't quite sleep. At all, really. And I know you never sleep because you're never in your bed. Unless you're in my bed. Which I don't know why you do, you know, but that's alright. I don't mind so much."

"No Daddy-O," Chris whined. He had never heard Remus talk so much. "Let's stay here aloneeee."

Remus probably rolled his eyes. Chris couldn't see, too content with closing his eyes and resting his head against the scratchy sweater shoulder.

"If you're my fri-end," Remus choked. Chris could feel him swallow around the word. "Friend," he tried again, "then take care of yourself."

What a weird kid, Chris thought, and fell asleep on his shoulder.

. . .

And that is the story of how Remus made his first ever friend.

(Remus was simultaneously freaking out and overjoyed. And too tired to care that he was potentially endangering himself by exposing super werewolf strength. Maybe it was the wolf. Or maybe he just wanted a hug, and Chris was unbearably willing. Either way.

I don't know what is going on, Remus thought to himself as he stumbled, frazzled, into the dorm with a lightly snoring roommate in his arms. He felt James Potter glaring at him, and ignored it.

Well, thought Remus, tired and angry and annoyed. Go hex yourself. He's mine now. Loser.

And tripped into his bed, with Chris clinging to him while Remus fell. Remus barely suppressed a scream.

He laid on his bed. I have a new Koala, Remus thought to himself, stunned. He stared at the ceiling, frozen stock still. Chris continued snoring, soft hair rustling against Remus' cheek.

I stole James Potter's friend. I'm going to die, Remus thought, he's going to kill me.

He got a little scared, and then Chris made a noise. Remus patted him on the head, and felt a little better. Chris went back to sleep.

Merlin. Remus had a new koala. And the koala had a new tree.)

. . .

What happened next went down in Hogwarts History for greatest first-year drama.

The Gryffindor Trio had imploded, torn apart into pieces.

The rumors spread like wildfire after Chris walked into the Great Hall the next day with an arm around Remus "Loopy" Lupin.

(Because everyone knows Potter hates Lupin. And everyone knows Potter has his possessions. And everyone knows that Potter's gang is Sirius Black and Christopher-not-Peter Pettigrew.)

The entire first-year population watched as Chris steered Lupin away from James and Sirius, only to drag the loser to sit next to Chris's mad crush Lily Evans.

When questioned, Christopher reportedly smiled, arm still around Remus' shoulder and said, "We are brothers now. We adopted each other last night."

The rumors gained speed and fire when Christopher was spotted ignoring and walking away from a shocked Gryffindor Prince James Potter, while Black Sheep Sirius Black reportedly glared scars into Mysterious Rebel Christopher's back.

"What did you do," Sirius asked James later that day, when Chris attended all the classes (a rarity) with either Lily or Lupin at his side (why them? Why not James? Or Sirius? Or no one?).

"Merlin, it's like he hates us," Sirius snickered, and folded his arms and laid his head down on them on the desk.

James ignored the question for a long time.

A month passed. It was right before the end of the term. The day before summer began, when James answered. "I told him a secret," James said finally, after Chris looked past the pair of Gryffindors in favor of the shadows, or Lily or Lupin.

Sirius hummed. They were sitting in the library. James had been staring out the window, sweater bunched around his hand, chin in his palm, elbow on the table.

Sirius laid with his head on the desk, feeling like Chris a little, who never seemed to be able to sit upright through a class. Even in final exams.

"Do you hate him now?" Sirius asked, looking at James with genuine curiosity.

"Sirius," James said, almost lazily, still looking out the window. "I'm just going to tell you now, but I'm not ever going to hate Chris. Not now. Not ever. No matter what."

James turned and looked at Sirius. The intensity in his eyes made Sirius still.

"Why?" Sirius asked quietly.

"I'm not wrong about Chris," James said. It was a simple fact. "I'm never wrong about people."

"You think he's a good person?" Sirius asked incredulously.

"No," James said, and stared at Sirius. "I know," James said. "I _know_."

Sirius looked at him. There was a stretch of silence.

"I think you know what I cannot say," James said. "I think you know very well."

James' suddenly proper speech, the roll of his tongue, the clarity of the words, the intensity of his eyes-

"Ah," Sirius said. "I see." He slid his eyes away, because it was rude.

It was pureblood etiquette that there were some things ancient pureblood families did not talk about. The number one. The ultimate number one best and worst kept secret- Sensing. Magic sensitivity. A skill that could only be brought out through...interesting rituals. A baptism really, only for the archaic. A bit of old, dark magic, some old blood in the line. Very, very, very few wizards and witches underwent the ritual. Some died, even, or so Sirius had been told.

The Black family tradition established that the ritual (illegally and secretly) was to be conducted on the first-born heir as a rite of age ceremony, so Sirius was set to receive it when he was seventeen.

Why had James' family already conducted the ritual? _Of course_ the Potter's were hiding something weird. What other weird dark rituals were they doing? James' father is Head Healer, Sirius thought, and wondered what sorts of things a guy like that could come up with to raise a successful pureblood son.

Sirius marveled again at the alliance he had managed with James. The only reason they could communicate about this, like this, was because they stood on opposite ends of an equally gilded fence. How rare was it that two heirs of top families in Britain were "best friends" and roommates? Doesn't happen, Sirius thought, and scratched his head.

"He's just...avoiding me because of that something I said," James said. "I shouldn't have said it. Too early, maybe," James mused in a strangely flat tone. "He doesn't hate me though. Or you. He's just...avoiding us and I want you to know that that's okay with me."

Sirius blinked. He had never seen James like this. He wanted to make James tell him exactly what he had said to Chris, but then, even bringing up the subject was forbidden. One did not mention magic sensitivity. Unless married, or something.

 _Merlin's left nostril, what did you tell Chris?_

"Does he know?" Sirius asked. He wanted to know if Chris knew it was taboo to talk about magic sensitivity. How would Chris know? He wasn't a rich pureblood. Sirius would've known if he was.

"No," James laughed a little. "I don't know."

Sirius hummed, trying to look like he didn't care. He did. Surely James knew.

"So you're okay with him running off for Lupin and Evans?" When it had just been Evans, it could have been excused as a boy with a crush. Or a soft spot. Or something. But when it was Lupin too, it was a boy picking new friends, and weird ones at that- a clear social snub to James. And James did like his power plays, Sirius mused.

James shrugged softly, as if that would put Sirius at ease. It didn't. "To be honest, I am annoyed," James admitted.

Sirius had never seen this side of James.

"I'm never wrong about people," James repeated. "I'm never wrong. And I know. I know..."

"What?" Sirius asked.

James turned to Sirius, and smiled. "I don't like Lupin."

The darkness in James, made something inside of Sirius start to jump to life. It felt like...excitement. Sirius felt his lips curl.

Sirius sat up. "So what's the plan?"

. . .

A/N: Hi guys, I'm not dead! Just really slow updater. Worked on this chapter on and off for a long time, deleting a lot of bad stuff I wrote lol. As usual, this is not beta-d, at this point I just wanted to get it uploaded so apologies for typos and mistakes.

As usual, thank you guys so so much for reviewing all the time and sticking with me. I read every review so so many times and I go back to look at them when I'm having a hard time, they really mean so much to me, even if I'm bad about replying. If you really want a reply feel free to PM me.

What do you think about Chris and Remus? James and Sirius? Next chapter should be a time skip to second year or further along, haven't decided yet. Let me know what you want to see, what you predict, and what moments you liked the most, did anything surprise you, and WHY!

PLEASE REVIEW I need you guys, I literally got this chapter out because I got nice long review from a beautiful wonderful person and felt inspired to try to write it one more time. :) I will not abandon this story because these children are my babies lolol.


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